


Undying

by Etsuryuu



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst, Drama, Hermaphrodites, M/M, Romance, mention of underage rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2018-09-16 22:24:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9292100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etsuryuu/pseuds/Etsuryuu
Summary: SlanderMeAgainAndYou'llBeSorry: "How do you know I threatened other authors unless it is also your account? :) Gotcha, you big liar. (I am not a tattletale like you. Only you and the other author would have known that especially since BOTH your accounts don't accept public reviews and NO ONE ELSE SEES IT). HAH! Now I have confirmed it is you. Ha-ha-ha! (I will screencap your blunder.) Repent and change your ways and we will leave you alone. :)"Estsuryuu: Because they have contacted me after you foolishly gave them my name in accusing them of being me. So thank you that. Continue this evil, and I guess it will go on. Because the villain has most assuredly been you since fanfiction.net.The first is a comment from the cruel thieving hate criminal terrorist who just can't go to bed without doing evil to innocent others and my response. For this evil soul is has apparently been cruelly harassing other innocent authors in assuming them to be me. And if this coward continues to harass me, I will continue to upload their comments any I have to.Unlike you, miss SlanderMeAgainAndYou'llBeSorry, I do not take pleasure in bringing unfair punishment and harm to innocent people. You may continue to lie and screencap and harass as are your dastardly habits, but the cowardly evil one will remain you: the one in severe need of repentance is you. People can believe whoever they wish, as I am sure people can make up their own minds. But the thieving, slandering, hate criminal terrorist will continue to be you until you chose to stop committing atrocities against me and innocent authors; and anyone who sides with you, will be committing crimes with you. Now that you have harassed other innocent authors assuming them to be me, will fight together now that you have foolishly joined us with your atrocities against us. We have done none of the evil you fallaciously fabricate. And since we are innocent, we will not stop. It is truly disgusting how evil people smile when they commit their atrocities. I am glad I am not such a heinous soul. I do not understand people taking pleasure in others' pain.Thank you for reading honest, decent, worthwhile souls. I will keep telling the truth and updating when I can.





	1. ONE

ONE

 _NO_! She refused! She had endured helpless while each and every other person she knew loved and cared for perished in vain. The two of them—at least— _would survive_. She would not allow either of them to just throw their lives away attempting to protect that which had already been lost. There was nothing left to save in their world anyway—except them. And desperation and necessity had luckily accelerated her own high ingenuity.

After Candida had torn the jinzou ningen and other peoples apart piece by piece with ease, he allowed some time to pass for the people remaining to rebuild cities; then, once people were finally hopeful there could be peace, he made sure to slowly and sickeningly begin to pick lives off again one by one. There was no method to his madness other than the fact that he delighted in the suffering and destruction of others; enthralled to watch them hope, meticulously tearing it all down again, highly aroused as he abused his ridiculously high power—a typically primitively wasteful dastard indeed.

There was no opposing him; no weapons or attacks seemed to affect him at all. Her only solace was that Gohan and her son had only been toyed around with again; only beaten some and left knocked out, so the sick bastard could “play again another day” before he flew off Kami knows where. Gohan and her son were the strongest beings left on the planet besides that dastard. But, she could feel that he was getting tired of “playing”. The next time he came, she knew it would be for keeps.

It took all her strength to carry their heavy bodies back to what was left of her dishevelled home. Once she found that they were both alright for the most part, she immediately administered powerful sedatives into them before cleaning and wrapping their wounds; not willing that they should wake until they were far away from the crumbling planet that had once been their home.

There were two special capsules she held in her trembling hands as she walked back to them after being in another room a while; one she placed in her son Trunks’ jacket pocket the other she secured in Gohan’s gi. She looked at them for a long while; her hands lingering one in each of their heads of different-textured demi-Saiyajin locks—so distinct from human hair yet still uncannily soft—before she gave each of their foreheads a gently kiss. Tears filled her eyes as she gazed upon them silently for a few moments more; she had that intuition she would never see them again. “There’s nothing left to save here, so don’t you dare come back, you hear? Live, both of you live happily and well for the rest of your natural lives. I won’t forgive you if you do otherwise,” she quietly pleaded with all the love and maternal hope a parent could muster.

After depositing the two of them within the craft she had put the rest of her energy, hope and will into, the cerulean-haired sapphire-eyed tensai onna finally pushed the button; sending the last two Z Senshi from her world, far away from all the hell their young souls had been forced to know.

Moments later she was more than grateful she had listened to her intuition; upping her work, despite her body’s complaints and completing her greatest work—besides her son—a special craft barely fitting enough for two faster than she had initially anticipated. Though she had yearned to go with them, she hadn’t enough time or resources to make it bigger and ensure that it still function properly. And as the she felt her body begin to sear in agony in the inferno that had become the Earth’s surface due to Candida’s sudden whim to finally be _done_ with the “boring planet”, she took silent peace in knowing her boys would be alright, far away from such a hellish time and place; that her best friend Son-kun would survive and somehow save the day like he always did.   

When Gohan awoke, he was significantly disoriented to say the least. After his head stopped swimming with vivid colours, he regulated his breath and began surveying his surroundings. His jaw dropped as he peered around. Was he dreaming? Had he been hit so hard by Candida that he was stuck in La La Land? Was he on Earth or some other planet? Or was he dead? It had been so long since he’d seen any terrain that was healthy and unblemished that he was truly incredulous.

As he tried to stand to get a better look, he realised his attempt was impeded by some transparent barrier. The realisation that he was in some sort of craft and not alone had finally hit him then. And as his eyes travelled over the unconscious form of a familiar lilac-haired boy, he groaned to himself as he began to realise what had probably transpired; a frown of sorrow and defeat plaguing his face as his nails dug angrily into his fists. He had failed them… He had so thoroughly failed them all! So Bulma had done the only thing left in her power to…

Fierce pressure built behind his eyes then, but he forced the tears down before they could surface like he had conditioned himself to for years after his father’s death. After a few deep breaths he pressed the open button inside the craft to open the top, gingerly picking his deshi up into his arms and exiting the craft.

He bit his lip in thickened discomfiture when the small ship began to disintegrate into fine dust the moment he and Trunks had left it; the wind blowing its particles in multiple directions. His thoughts of Bulma then were bittersweet. As grateful as he was that Trunks was safe now, he loathed the cerulean-haired tensai for taking his choice from him. It should have been her and Trunks to have been saved! He had wanted— _needed_ to fight to his last! With the craft gone, he probably couldn’t go back. And Trunks shouldn’t have had to lose his mother too! He knew that pain only too well…

Gohan’s thoughts froze then. His dear deshi had awakened in his arms; the tears trailing his young face telling that he already had an idea of what had happened.       

“Tell me it isn’t true Gohan-san. Please tell me?!” cried the distraught ten-year-old, as he grasped desperately at his shishou’s gi, causing even Gohan’s usually stern face to crumble.

Gohan allowed his pupil to cry on him a while, remaining silent, holding him tighter for a few moments before urging him to stand on his own two feet.

After wiping his face on his sleeve and taking a few thorough breaths, Trunks was about to ask Gohan quite a few questions. But the sight of a tall green man in weighted cape and turban clipped his thought.

Trunks watched fascinated as his shishou paused for a long moment before jerking around and then jetting over to said green man; easily knocking him clean over. Were his own heart not racked in anguish, he might have laughed at said scene. For, he had never witnessed his shishou act in such a way. But instead he just observed; probably as sternly as he was used to seeing his shishou do.

Piccolo bristled as a strange man—so reminiscent of Goku it made him cringe internally—continued to hug the life from him; incredulous as the man’s hysterical tears continued to stain his gi, his indecipherable cries doing something he didn’t much like to his chest. And when he heard his name cried out the way only a certain child and pupil of his did by this man, his eyes widened to comical levels.

Only after calming himself enough to keen his senses, Piccolo observed the oddly beaten-looking, bandaged, tailed man more closely; sniffing his person and feeling out his Ki to be sure that his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. “Gohan…” he finally attempted once sure, “are you going to tell what’s going on?” he finished, trying to get his deshi off of him so they could both sit up and then stand.

Gohan stilled then; sheer horror beginning to fill his person as he realised what he had just unwittingly done. He swiftly jumped off his dear shishou and stood strongly; his eyes shooting back to that of his own pupil. How in the hell had he lost control like that?!

Trunks only looked to him with a sad smile; slight resentment but also understanding gleaming in his eyes. He had heard Gohan call out Piccolo’s name; knowing that if it had been reversed, if he had been the one who hadn’t seen his dear shishou and friend for years, he probably would have done the same thing. He stood strongly then; giving his shishou a real smile and head nod to let him know it was alright.

Gohan smiled lightly back; relief filling his person before turning back to face the once again standing Piccolo. “This is Earth, right? What year is it?” he suddenly asked very seriously. Piccolo’s face became unreadable before answering; things beginning to fall into place in his mind. And once Gohan heard his answer, he started laughing hysterically; causing Piccolo and Trunks to peer at him worriedly, Trunks beginning to move closer to the two. Neither had ever seen him in such a state before.

Diligently wiping the tears from his eyes and face, Gohan moved to compose himself; beginning to control his breath before speaking again. “It wasn’t a spaceship; it was a time machine,” he informed both, though only he had seen the actual craft before its untimely demise.   

Piccolo’s ears twitched slightly but other than that there was no indication that the news affected him.

Trunks’ face scrunched up at that. Now he knew why his mother made sure to keep him and Gohan out of a certain room in what had been left of Capsule Corp. His only solace was if they had gone back in time, perhaps they could change things so none of that hell would ever happen. But the thought also left his precocious mind in unease. If they succeeded in changing certain events, what would happen to him and Gohan? They belonged in a different time, all in all a different world. Once it had been altered, would they disappear? As much as he was for making things right, a part of him felt severe disquietude at the thought of no longer existing. As sad as his life had been, he’d had one; whether smiles or frowns those memories were _his_. Where would they all go if he was no more? Would he have endured all that he had for naught? Would-

“Trunks, are you alright?” asked his shishou a lot softer than usual, his face filled with worry, a battle-hardened hand gingerly squeezing his shoulder as he peered down at his pupil. 

Trunks’ face became stern then. “I am fine Gohan-san. Since we can, we must make sure _that_ future _never_ happens,” he urged seriously.

Gohan nodded in the affirmative, squeezing his shoulder with just a little more force as lament permeated his own soul. As much as he wanted Trunks to be strong and able to handle anything, he also yearned for him to be able to live as the child he still was. It wasn’t right for him to have to worry about things so. That had been the life they couldn’t choose before. Now that he could he would do everything in his power to make sure it never ever came to that.

Piccolo observed both thoroughly. So, one was a thoroughly more hardened version of his deshi from the future. So who was the other; the boy with strange coloured hair and tail, that was unmistakably his pupil’s pupil? He was also obviously part Saiyajin—he could see it and scent it—but who was he? Who were his parents? What exactly had happened in the future to harden the both of them so? And…

“Piccolo-san?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re the only one that knows we’re here, right?”

“Just me, Dende and Mister Popo. It was Dende who asked me through telepathy to check out the “strange disturbance in Earth’s atmosphere” that he “just couldn’t quite pinpoint”—since I was already below the Tenkai on Earth. It wasn’t difficult to find you once I was searching. Though, as long as you do not power up or go Super Saiyajin, I doubt the others will notice,” he informed matter-of-factly.

“That’s good. While we must make sure certain things never happen in order to save the future, we don’t want to inadvertently change things that ought not to be changed,” informed Gohan seriously.

“I agree. Perhaps we should use Shunkan Idou to go to Kami’s Temple instead of flying. Bukujutsu would alert the other Z Senshi of your presences,” offered Piccolo.

“You can do that?” asked Gohan with wide eyes.

Piccolo scowled at him, slightly insulted. “Yes, _I can_ ‘do that’,” he informed curtly. “Your father and I have been training seriously for a year since he came back from Yardrat and finally destroyed Freeza for once and for all,” he finished coldly.

Gohan finally realized why Piccolo was upset and held up his hands in defence. “Oh, no Piccolo-san! I didn’t mean it that way. I have just had such a hard time getting stronger myself that… It’s not really a surprise that you mastered it. You’ve always been amazing,” he uttered sincerely.

Piccolo’s face became less harsh as he felt very warm at the confession; though he wasn’t sure just quite why.

Trunks’ piercing blue eyes glimmered as realisation began to take place. No wonder Gohan kept acting like ditz in front of Piccolo. He had been much more than a shishou to him. Was that why Gohan, as his shishou, had always been a little cold towards him, so that wouldn’t happen between them, because he understood the pain of losing such a one? He tried really hard then to understand, but it began to make him angry and...

“Hold on to me you two. Let’s get on Kami’s Temple and into room you won’t be detected,” urged Piccolo evenly.

Trunks hesitated a moment before tightly grasping onto Piccolo’s gi; his lilac tail furling in angst.

Gohan frowned as his eyes caught his pupil’s new stoic demeanour but said nothing as he eagerly latched onto his shishou’s form. He couldn’t help how he felt. It had been so long since he had the honour and privilege of sharing the same time and space with Piccolo. He meant no insensitivity or disrespect to his own deshi; it just felt good to have his own shishou back. Even if it was only temporary, if changing the past would ensure the end of his existence; he would treasure every moment he was allowed with him.

After Dende had healed their dishevelled forms, Piccolo observed their new tailed guests devouring the feast Mister Popo had prepared, his face twitching ever so slightly. They were definitely Saiyajin. He had known no other beings able to fit that much food into such a small-in-comparison space and then still want more.

It was then that he realized whom the keen blued-eyed one reminded him of—Vegeta. If not for the hair and eyes, the boy Gohan kept calling “Trunks” was a perfect younger replica of the over-haughty Saiyajin no Ouji. Now he wanted to figure out whom in the hell had let Vegeta father a child? He wouldn’t have just ‘taken it’, would he? No, as obnoxious as his “Royal Highness” was at times, something like that would have been beyond his pride. Vegeta could be called many things but a coward wasn’t one of them. Only a feckless coward would do something as dastardly as steal someone’s humanity like that. So that left him once again—who would allow Vegeta to father a child?! He had no idea why it bothered him so, but it did.

“Piccolo-san, is there a reason why you keep glaring daggers at me?” asked Trunks curtly, clearly peeved, looking even more like that certain arrogant royal pain.

Piccolo sweatdropped before answering. “No, and I am not ‘glaring daggers’. I was merely thinking hard. Finish your meal boy. When the two of you are done, Dende has just finished creating other rooms and corridors inside the Temple besides this that will hide your Ki so that you may do whatever you need to without alerting the other Z Senshi of your presences. There are toilets and baths within your personal rooms, and Dende has left sets of clothing that will fit you both in each room respectively, though they are in the Namek fashion,” he informed evenly.

“That’s more than enough. Thank you so much Piccolo-san, for everything,” answered Gohan with profound emotion, striving to keep his shimmering eyes from depositing unwanted fluid. It was so much harder to keep his emotions in check now; it still surreal to him that the moment was real at all.

Trunks eyed the two of them closely. He suddenly wasn’t as hungry anymore, pushing his last plate to the side and standing. “Would you please show me to my room, Piccolo-san?” he asked with as little emotion as possible.

“Sure. Follow me. I will return shortly,” he answered evenly, saying the last part to Gohan; his eyes telling him that they needed to talk— _alone_.

**Tsudzuku…**

**Arigatou Gozaimasu for reading minna-san.**


	2. TWO

Piccolo’s form remained unreadable as he continued to listen intently to each and every word from his deshi from the future as the young man paced back and force anxiously. Though truly unnerved the further Gohan went on, Piccolo maintained his stoic façade. It really began to cinch his own pride to find out that in the not-too-distance future he had been, would so be easily taken out by jinzou ningen along with the rest of the Z Senshi not too long after Son Goku would die from a virus negatively effecting his heart. And with each word more that came from Gohan with immense emotion, the more the increasing urge to crush something mounted within Piccolo; though his outer form remained calm.  

“…As despicable as the jinzou ningen were, they could not hold a flame to Candida. Approximately eleven years from now he will appear out of nowhere in outskirts near Metro West. For some odd reason he seemed to detest lifeforms that had anything artificial about them, so it was a strange first encounter. He really relished tearing apart the jinzou ningen piece by piece; seeming simultaneously repulsed yet relieved as he toyed with them and prolonged their suffering greatly before forcing their final demise. I am pretty sure he could somehow sense their presence, unlike me, now that I think about it.

“It was that day—that moment after he had punished, blasted, and disintegrated both heinous jinzou ningen to nothingness right before my eyes—that he gave me the strangest look I’ve ever received from an enemy; like he was in pain, lamenting, irate, disgusted, and joyous all at once. Those pale haunting grey eyes made me wince every time I saw them for a couple years after off and on; killing my pride from that very first day. For, he had inadvertently saved me from the jinzou ningen that would have probably finally finished me that day otherwise. I was so beaten; it destroyed my warrior spirit when he nonchalantly left without laying a finger on me! Bastard! I would have-!”

“You wouldn’t be here, Gohan, had he destroyed you then or at all during his horrid stay on Earth; had Bulma not kept her resolve.” Now that certain gaps had been filled in his information, Piccolo had a greater respect for the cerulean-haired Capsule Corp heiress and some sure empathy for his adult pupil, for both of them. “Please do not regret surviving. The universe would not be the same without you. Your own pupil certainly would not do well to lose you, Gohan,” Piccolo declared with firm conviction, his eyes glimmering slightly with emotion his usual harshness would not allow to pervade the rest of his elegant face.        

Piccolo was at a loss for words when Gohan suddenly relinquished all etiquette and swiftly pulled his person into a much needed embrace. His antennae twitched underneath his turban; his tongue feeling as if it had grown too big for his mouth. Pervasive warmth and pain filled his chest at all he had just been informed of, but also at the novel sensation of an adult Gohan hugging him just as warmly as the child he knew would. And yet, for a rare moment, he had no clue what to do, feeling awkward; though finally opting to bring his arms around his adult deshi too, a deep broken emotional gasp-like sigh coming from Gohan once he finally had, Gohan beginning a much needed breakdown in his arms.

Piccolo knew his distressed deshi from the future needed it, so for once he did not chastise him for his emotional indiscretion; allowing silence to be a temporary comforting blanket for them both.

Trunks tried to smile and be grateful for the new life he was allowed. But the more his precocious mind contemplated everything, the worse he felt; hot, heavy pain laced tears beginning to stream from his eyes and spew from his young soul. Although the powerful ten-year-old could understand a lot, there was much he did not fully comprehend, leaving his precocious mind to grieve the more he tried to ponder.

The loss of his mother and even the hellish world and home he had known all his life surely took a toll on him. But as he began feeling as if he was losing his sensei too, he was not sure of how much more he could withstand. Why?! Why did everything have to turn so messed up?! Urgh! He was so tired of feeling so much, feeling so helpless; tossing his jacket harshly against the wall, the odd click it made then alerting him out of his heavy thoughts.

Tentatively walking over to it, Trunks bent and picked up the Capsule Corp jacket, which was currently just a bit too big for him, but he was more than grateful to have. It still had his mother’s scent on it; something precious he would never forget.

Running his fingers over the expanse of the blue jacket—his gaze penetrating as he observed it studiously—his lavender brow rising as he felt something unfamiliar in an inner pocket. Fishing and taking said item out, he peered at it thoughtfully.

He initially frowned when he saw that it was only a dishevelled unmarked capsule, but thought better of it after a moment. His mother must have put something important in there for him! If nothing else, it was one more thing he had left to remember her by. And on that thought, another gush of anguish saturated tears threatened to break loose. But Trunks bit his lip, took a few deep cleansing breaths, wiped his face, and found his resolve. There would be time to cry, if need be. Right now finding out what was in that capsule took precedence.

Because he was unsure of what it contained, Trunks moved to one corner of the luxurious room Dende afforded him before clicking the top and tossing the capsule into the grand space before the bed.  

The room was immediately flooded with what remained of his things: clothes, old toys, books, gadgets, trinkets, pictures, discs, small data drives and such. But it was the small digital holographic video projector/recorder which caught his eye; him gingerly picking up the small silver rectangular device and placing it just a ways from all the stuff that had just come from the capsule, pushing the black button to get it started, tears immediately filling his eyes at the familiar life-sized 3D holographic image which began to speak:

Trunks, my son, know that there is not a day that passes that I am not proud of you. You are strong, proud, determined and brave like your father, but also smart, stylish, and adventurous like me. Though our time together was unfairly difficult and short, each day of my life was a joy because you were in it… If you are watching this now, it means our future our world could not be changed. As such, I do not to ever want you feel guilty for surviving. And please, do not ever attempt to come back to this hellish place. I can promise you there is nothing left here. Live strong, well and honourably. Help Gohan get over his guilt and anger. We have all done everything we could. And together, the both of you with Son Goku make and keep that Earth, that universe a safe and decent place for all. You have always been and will always be my pride and joy. Live life to the fullest and do what makes you most happy. I love you always my dear son.

The 3D holographic image of his mother faded then; the recorded message having concluded, the room uncannily quiet. Heavy emotion drenched tears continued to trail Trunks’ young face for a few moments more before he got up, wiped his face and nose, and began sorting through the things amassed on his room floor. The message was bittersweet for many reasons, but he would hold it forever within himself; reverently placing the special holographic projector on his bedside table.

After getting over his embarrassment of practically mauling his dear shishou in such an emotionally uninhibited moment and awkwardly pulling away, Gohan sat down on a plush sky blue hued settee in the room afforded him by Dende. “So, Piccolo-san, I do not recall Dende staying on Earth when-”

“He did not. Your father went to New Namekkusei to get him to be Earth’s new Kami, after I absorbed Kami into myself; me becoming one whole being once more. As much as I hate to admit it, I wasn’t even hint of a challenge for your father after his return from Yardrat. Though not my first choice, the one way I had to amass significant power and strength swiftly was to reunite myself. It is how I am able to help your father grow stronger. I am currently the strongest being on the planet. Do I not seem different?”

“Now that I think about it, your presence is certainly greater... more balanced. And if you are happier and more complete, I am happy for you. But you were always great to me Piccolo-san; always will be,” confessed Gohan sincerely, him striving to keep his tears from starting again as the years he had endured without him crept into the front of his mind, inundating his spirit.

It was quiet a long moment as neither knew what to say to the other. Though, Piccolo eventually found something, “You must be tired Gohan. Take a load off for a while… We can break things to your father sometime this week. No offence, but I doubt any of the Earthlings would be able to do anything against the enemies you’ve spoken of, if Vegeta and I were taken out so easily,” he finished firmly, beginning to stand. Goku is not going to like hearing that he might die in over a year or so. Then again, things are already somewhat different from the past Gohan knew. Perhaps…

“Wait!” Gohan jumped up so quickly he almost tripped, his cheeks painting a vivid rose in more embarrassment of his behaviour. But before he could utter a word, an object foreign to his dogi jumbled out of it, Piccolo catching the capsule before it could reach the floor; lifting a brow ridge as he held it in front of Gohan to take. And Gohan did so intently; both moving to a side of the room as Gohan clicked the top and tossed it to the middle of the room, neither sure just what would come from it.

However, Gohan’s eyes immediately began to water once more as he got a good view of all the deposited items; him swallowing thickly to bury his sorrow and keep his tears from falling anymore in front of his dear shishou. Old pictures, clothes and things his mother had made him before her death, data drives, odd and ends Bulma had allowed him to keep while he had lived with her and Trunks, and such piled on the room floor. He bit his lip harshly then, almost drawing blood. He had had a family again with them, if only for a short time, and he had failed to protect even them. Saturated chagrin and lament choked a portion of his consciousness, but he forced his face remain firm as he had conditioned himself. And as his dark eyes roved over each distinct item, somethings in particular caught his eye.

In the middle of the pile was a medium thermos-shaped steel canister. To the side of that was a very thick and heavy, black, clipped close, ring binder full of paper. His feet began to take him there without much thought, his hand reaching down and picking up the binder first. Undoing the protective cover clip, Gohan began to peruse through the first couple pages, glancing through others; his eyes lighting up, causing Piccolo to give him a questioning gaze.

“These are Bulma’s notes,” he informed evenly. “She has apparently documented every jinzou ningen sighting, and also incorporated all the information she could dig up on them and Candida. She also has all the information she could get on the virus my father died from and other pathogens we’d only begun to come across there… According to this, that canister has the only air, temperature tight dosages of the antiviral medicine she was able to come by. Times have been really hard for us for some time…” Gohan’s fists clenched then, anguish and anger hitting him again full force; though he strove to swallow it down as was habit, his fingers easily denting the binder.

“Gohan?”

“I am not disappearing; I still exist even after telling you everything. It means us coming here could not change the time and place I come from. Instead of entirely erasing a horrid time and making things right; we were merely able to travel to another time, basically another universe in which certain things have not yet occurred, which is no doubt why things have already happened differently from the world in which I knew. Or even worse, our attempt to travel through the fabric of time and space only succeeded in distorting it; forcing another universe to be born with great similarity but very real distinctions from the one I knew.”

“Both theories are types of multiverse regardless of which is true. Is either so bad Gohan? The Universe is a vast and complex place and macro organism of its own. That actually makes more sense. The past of any one timeline probably cannot ever truly be changed, for the universe came into existence with the explosion and continued expansion of a single point. Going backwards goes against the Universe’s natural instinct to expand. And a life with a single face cannot be facing both frontwards and backwards at the same time; it’s just not possible. It’s still amazing though that Bulma was able to devise a vessel that could even do that much… You and Trunks are still alive, do exist. Would it be so bad to live on in memory of them?”

Gohan peered at Piccolo strongly then. In that moment he felt the most powerful simultaneous urges to hug and slap Piccolo at once. Why did he always have to be so logical, so rigid—so right…?

And then he bust up laughing, pressured tears finally falling in his boisterous hoots; causing Piccolo’s firm physiognomy to frown at him. Gohan held up a hand then to let Piccolo know he was alright, not hysterical, just brimming with the incredulity and overwhelm that all that and he now knew meant.

“I’ve really missed you Piccolo-san,” said Gohan honestly, swiftly wiping his tears and gazing at Piccolo earnestly. You just could not possibly know how much.

“Hn,” uttered Piccolo tersely, suddenly feeling strangely uncomfortable. “Well, if you need anything, Dende and Mister Popo aren’t too far… And I’ll of course be up here too.” With that Piccolo swiftly left Gohan’s room, softly closing the door behind him. He did not like the strange unease he suddenly felt in Gohan’s presence as his eyes had lingered on him in a way they never had before.

Gohan sighed heavily after Piccolo’s departure, relishing that his unique, ethereal scent lingered; his eyes painfully going over the words: **I know how sharp of a mind you have and how you are. Don’t you dare try and come back, Gohan. I promise you there is nothing left here. Please live well and help Trunks do the same** , which Bulma had written in large bold letters on quite a few pages.

Fine Bulma, I’ll stay. And so help me, this world will be safe as long as I’m in it. I know I’ve been selfish. Thank you for giving me another chance…

“Gohan-san, is there not some way we could train down on Earth without them finding out who we are? We have only been up here for days and I cannot take it anymore. It is a spacious, beautiful, accommodating temple, and I am grateful for everything Dende-san, Piccolo-san and Popo-san have done for us. But even a vast and beautiful prison is still a prison. We were trapped inside a lot before too. I-”

“The boy is right. We need to train more freely, and a little nature wouldn’t hurt. You two will be living on Earth from now on anyway. We are going to have to just introduce you to everyone; get it out of the way so we can move on and prepare for what is to come,” said Piccolo matter-of-factly.

“But how Piccolo-san. How? I do not think it would be a good idea for them to know who we really are, at least not yet. They’ve never seen Trunks before, granted. But what about me? My father and Vegeta have strong, non-diluted Saiyajin senses. They will be able to tell that I’m his son!”

“Not necessarily. The Gohan of this time has not even hit puberty yet; scents can change a lot during such times. We can dress the both of you up and make it seem as if you have crash landed on Earth from another planet. We can let them know tactfully that you are both half Saiyajin, have lost your families and world—which is no lie—merely leaving certain details out.”

Piccolo was peering upward and rubbing his chin as his masterful mind began to work. So submerged in thought was he that he failed to see the flushing face of his adult deshi. Even Trunks missed it as his mind began going too.

“I like that idea Piccolo-san. I… I am kind of nervous to meet everyone, Gohan-san. I would feel better if they didn’t know who I was; at least for now. I mean, I haven’t even been born yet here. I think the less they know about us the better,” admitted Trunks timidly, his vivid blue eyes gazing into his shishou’s in a way he couldn’t say no to.

Gohan sighed heavily before answering, “Alright Trunks. Piccolo-san, can you speak and somehow transmit fluent Intergalactic Common to us? You know Vegeta will try us and won’t fall for this if we can only speak Earthling.”

“I do and can. And somehow we need to warn everyone of the impeding dangers to come… Do you have any pictures, footage of the jinzou ningen or Candida?”

“Actually, I do. Somehow Bulma was able to manage a few tiny spy bots that did get some footage of the three of them, and left me a drive of it. But… It is already going to be difficult to convince them that were from another planet. What are we going to say, that we came here to help save them after being too late to save our own world, and because we had visions we can’t control, we know how to? That’s too farfetched,” spoke Gohan evenly, folding his brawny arms and shaking his head.

“No, it’s perfect Gohan. You just didn’t go far enough,” answered Piccolo with a cunning smirk beginning to claim his features. “Thanks to Nail—the Namekkuseijin I fused with on Namekkusei to fight against Freeza—through his late parent’s passed down knowledge, I know of a planet off in another quadrant of space populated with people extremely similar in stature and power to humans, yet with much greater technological, intellectual and sociological advancements. They no longer have corruption, greed, war, poverty or any type of primitively wasteful socially constrained system or institution of inequality on that world. They no longer pollute themselves or their planet; keeping it a truly healthy world. The advanced weapons they keep are merely kept and trained with in case less than laudable ‘visitors’ come from other worlds; the only prisons there are for those same visitors if need be. It could be surmised that a Saiyajin mating with one could produce children like you and Trunks. We will just have to be adamant about not saying your parents’ names. After all, you will be strangers, so you can’t be expected to tell them everything. However, we will need valid names for you. And I will have to go to that planet to be sure of those names, its current state and that of the people there, their language, clothing and technology. They might even let us have some.  

“Though, we will have to alter that story. Their world still exists as far as I know. So, let’s just say your parents chose to spend most their lives travelling through space, for research purposes and perhaps adventure. And coming across a particularly powerful space mercenary, they gave their lives, successfully defeating a heinous cretin to save yours. So the two of you continued on your own in their spaceship, the legacy left to you; having no other family members, using it to travel through space as you had once with your parents. You can even be siblings if you like. We can even squeeze in the detail of you having a vision of another world; that you wanted to help save it in memory of your parents.

“We will get the details together soon enough. You two come with me. I will take us to that planet with Shunkan Idou. Mine is more powerful than Goku’s thanks to my natural abilities and psychokinesis, so I should be able to get us there just fine. Goku or Gohan might come up here to see me. It would not do for either of them to see you yet.”

Mirai Gohan and Trunks both nodded silently, peering at Piccolo in awe with wide eyes. Though, a small smile began to seep through the conditioned hardness of Gohan’s face. How much he had missed this immaculate being called Piccolo. And for that slight moment, Gohan quietly revelled in the thought that things just might actually somehow turn out right.   

**Tsudzuku…**

**Arigatou Gozaimasu for reading minna-san.**


	3. THREE

The Antaijin from Wakusei Anshinritsumei had been just as kind, intelligent, peaceful, generous and amazing as Piccolo had described them to be. Though, they were still great believers in universal balance, so they had asked that Piccolo use his Namek materialisation technique to help fortify certain protective structures around their planet in return for the spaceship, fuel, foods, water, clothes, gadgets, weapons, books, and such they were asked for, which was no real trouble. Thankfully everything went off without a hitch on that planet; everyone allowed to learn a great deal from each other. It was the trip home that made even Piccolo minutely nervous. So, the three of them travelled through space for a time while getting themselves and the plan together.

Piccolo gazed upon the now Antaijin space clothing garbed Gohan and Trunks; both dressed in durable, plain, clean, tight formfitting, one-piece silver hued suits that stretched to fit, and tight but flexible ankle high boots and gloves of the same material, only white. They even had immaculately fabricated, very convincing digital pictures of Gohan’s and Trunks’ obviously black-haired and tailed, muscular full-blooded Saiyajin “mother” and lavender-haired blue-eyed Antaijin “father”, and pictures of the four of them at different ages set up in the ship, courtesy of the Antaijin. Yes, Piccolo believed they could pull it off then. Within mere days they had all been made up-to-date on everything Antaijin, and he had passed on fluent Antaigo and Intergalactic Common to both young warriors from the future with a mind meld of sorts. There just wasn’t time to learn each in the usual way. It was time to return.

“Are you both ready?” he asked in his usual even tone and calm façade.

“I am ready,” answered both Gohan and Trunks in Antaigo at the same time, their faces firm and stances strong.

Though he had already gone over everything multiple times, Piccolo went on once more, “You know your acting must be flawless. You cannot intimately know, remember anyone on Earth. Not your parents, not me. You are strangers to Earth and have come with the hope of helping save her and her people, thanks to your spontaneous visions, which began after your parents’ demise. You know us only as decent strangers you wish to help, images from unclear visions.”  

“We are ready,” repeated both young senshi from the future once more. Though slightly nervous under the surface, they were ready to move things along.

“Very well. I am going to Shunkan Idou this entire ship into Earth’s solar system and then myself to my room in Kami’s Temple. Dende and Popo have already been made aware of things. With this, you won’t have to crash land after all. Just make sure your sentou ryokus are up just enough, and the Z-Senshi and I should be on the designated portion of Earth before you land, having sensed powerful ‘visitors’ near. Also, have this ship perform an automatic cleansing of itself and your suits before stepping out of it. We wouldn’t want anyone with Saiyajin blood scenting my scent.” And with that Piccolo did just as he said he would, gone from their sight in less than a second.

“Gohan-san, is this really happening? What if I mess up? What if when seeing my mother I-”

“Trunks, I have full faith in you. I am proud to call you my pupil and am so glad that you are here with me. I would not have made it this far without you,” expressed Gohan firmly, his stout dark eyes peering strongly yet affectionately into those of his deshi, pleased to see the young boy’s face finally light up for a moment as a child’s should, the newfound confidence he had given him significant beyond words.

Sure enough, when their grand clean silver hued, saucer-shaped vessel finally landed in a wasteland on Earth, just about every Z-member was there waiting; making both Trunks’ and Gohan’s tails twitch slightly around their waists. They knew to keep them around their waists, as certain movements could easily give away how they felt—the tail language. They would just have to keep themselves as calm as possible. “Here goes Trunks. Just let me do most of the talking. Your nervousness makes sense. You are after still a young child, so that will work to our advantage,” offered Gohan, gently squeezing Trunks’ shoulder one last time before moving in front of the ship’s hatch door.

Trunks swallowed thickly but followed after Gohan as he walked out of the ship as coolly as possible. Though, he kept his gaze downward, Trunks could feel everyone’s eyes on them; looking them up and down, assessing them, analysing them. He did not much like it but allowed Gohan to take the lead as he said he would, sighing when it finally began.

Gohan first greeted the group with the Antaijin gesture greeting of grasping his own hands together in front of his chest in a cupped hold that signalled peace and togetherness, bowing his head once slightly to finish the greeting. It took a lot to see it, but Gohan noticed that Vegeta did not recognise the greeting but kept eyeing both his and Trunks’ waists where their tails were wrapped around. This was probably a good thing, as perhaps Antaijin were a people Saiyajin and the Galactic Freeza Army never came across; probably part of why they were thriving, and that was one thing they had forgotten to ask while there.

Gohan began introducing himself as Mek (a name that means “honourable warrior” in Antaigo) and his little “brother” as Tes (a name that means “hope of worlds” in Antaigo) in Intergalactic Common; names Piccolo had helped them pick out. Of course the Earthlings had no idea what he was saying. But Vegeta moved closer to him, unfolding his arms and peering at him strongly. “You are Saiyajin, but not full-blooded,” he stated harshly, his nose twitching slightly, his eyes demanding to know how they had survived.

“That is correct Vegeta Ouji-sama,” said M. Gohan as respectfully as possible, hoping that him knowing about him through his “mother” would work for them. “Our mother was Saiyajin, our father Antaijin,” he continued matter-of-factly. “She survived alone and found her solace on a world of peace, our father’s home planet. The two of them became close and made it a habit never to stay in the one place too long. My brother and I are the result of their union.”

Gohan did his best to maintain his calm even demeanour, giving Vegeta time to make a choice, their eyes not leaving each other.

“Where are your parents now?” demanded Vegeta gruffly.

Here neither M. Gohan nor Trunks had to act; genuine ire, pain and frustration filling their faces at what Gohan said next. “They died to save us from a heinous mercenary. It is why I can go Super Saiyajin now. The anger and pain at being too weak to help protect my family and world..!” suddenly bellowed M. Gohan, his fists clenching, knees bending and bright golden energy surging throughout his being until he had fully transformed into a Super Saiyajin.

Everyone there, except Vegeta, gasped at the sight; their eyes widening. Vegeta grimaced quite perturbed; his jaw clenching as he was forced to witness another reach his birth right before him.

Of course, no one was more excited at the sight than Goku; him immediately jetting closer to M. Gohan and Trunks. “Amazing! That’s so cool!” he chirped enthusiastically. “Battle me?”

Gohan almost sweatdropped at his father’s usual antics but feigned to not understand his Earthling tongue instead, placing a hand on Goku’s head, both sending and receiving much information through the touch; Goku’s eyes widening as he finally quieted knowingly, peering profoundly at his son from the future. “I might battle you some time Son Goku. For now, my brother and I come with urgent message,” M. Gohan said firmly in Chikyuugo, his eyes telling Goku to play along that he’d received the language telepathically through touch, which he did.

From then on, M. Gohan reintroduced himself and his little “brother” in Chikyuugo, allowing everyone there to introduce themselves as well, placing a hand on Trunks as if sharing their language with him; informing everyone of why they had come, the future threats envisioned to come to Earth, dates, times, appearances, details and such; being as tactful as possible as he explained how they had received such fractured information in sad reoccurring dreams after their parents’ deaths.

Of course everyone’s heads were whirling then, but M. Gohan wasn’t quite finished. Pulling a small foreign rounded silver hued cube from a pouch on his belt, M. Gohan pressed a side of it, it opening with the same sound of a capsule on Earth only smoother, as it was the Antaijins’ own original version of such. Out of it came a large shimmering crystal container which held many vials of multi-coloured fluids.

“My brother and I will do all that we can to help. But to ensure that none of you die from infected pathogens or illness before the battles even begin, I have brought every antiviral and antibiotic medicine we know of.” Pausing a moment to point to the violet hued vial, he continued, “After the persistent visions, I am sure this is the medicine you might need, Son Goku. Though, if all goes well, you hopefully won’t need any medicine at all.” M. Gohan then capsulized the medicines once more, placing the small rounded cube back into his pouch; finally letting go of his Super Saiyajin transformation.

Bulma was raring to speak up first. “Well, since we have that much information, let’s just go find and blast Doctor Gero’s laboratory to hell before all this can happen. We can even gather the Dragon Balls and wish for the location of Candida’s home and a way to sense him when and if he does come around. That way none of you have to die. What do you think?”

“Absolutely not onna! I will kill anyone that even attempts such. I will take care of these supposed threats myself, whenever the hell they decide to show their unworthy faces!” growled Vegeta heatedly.

“I have to agree with Vegeta on this one,” offered Goku. “I want to fight these guys. And since I won’t have to worry about dying from some weird bug, what’s the problem?”

“You all died in Mek’s vision of Earth’s future! That’s the problem! Are you even listening to yourselves?” uttered Bulma flustered.

“If I die, it will just mean that was the best I could do as a warrior,” admitted Tenshinhan resolutely. “Chaozu and I will train together alone until the appointed times or something turns up.” With that, he and Chaozu took off to some other portion of the earth.

Kuririn continued to observe everyone silently. He had already known the Saiyajins—especially his best friend and comrade Goku—would want to fight. He would just do his best to offer whatever support he could. He had no illusions, already having reached the wall of what he was capable of as a fighter, and hoped with his whole heart that they would all survive and be victorious when the time arose. Though, he was curious about their visitors Mek and Tes. They both seemed so familiar somehow, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it… But he was happy they were there, glad they were kind enough to come to Earth to help after all they must have been through themselves, losing their parents so young, having no other family members; the hope that the future could be changed and the joy of having new friends swelling in his heart.

Though Yamucha could sense like the rest that Mek and Tes were good people—there being no real evil evident in their respective Kis—he did not know just how to feel having more Saiyajin on the planet; opting to remain silent.

Vegeta was just about done. He was sick to death of their sickeningly happy-go-lucky group, and the new half-Saiyajin brats only made his blood burn that much more fiercely. It made no sense that they existed at all. Then again, he had never heard of Antaijin or their weakling of a planet. And though part of him wanted to ask more about the whelps’ mother, he decided to hold back. Though, one thing was certain; those new brats did have Saiyajin blood running through their veins. He would defeat them and any foolish enough to stand in his way!

Without any further acknowledgement to anyone, Vegeta took to sky in a powerfully heated blast of Ki. He would do much better than survive. He would fight, he would win, and he would claim his rightful place as the strongest in the universe!

That left Piccolo, Yamucha, Kuririn, Gohan, Goku, Bulma, M. Gohan, and Trunks standing around their Antaijin uchuusen. Though his face remained its usual unreadable, Piccolo was beaming inside. Everything had gone according to plan for once. Now they just needed to finish up, which he would help move along.

“So, Mek, Tes, you are staying on Earth to help us fight, which is commendable. But I would recommend moving your spaceship somewhere safer. Humans can be quite cruel and thoughtless to even their own, let alone outsiders. Though you are more than capable of handling yourselves, it would be wise to be as inconspicuous as possible.”

“You can stay with us!” blurted Goku excitedly, his large eyes beaming with enthusiasm.

Young Gohan decided to chime in then too. Though no one had noticed, young Gohan had been eyeing Trunks the entire time; as he had never been in the presence of, let alone seen another demi-Saiyajin around his age or at all before. It made him feel warm inside to know he wasn’t the only one, and he wanted very much to become his friend, his own tail swishing to and fro in his excited hope. “Yeah, stay with us, please. I am sure we can all help make each other stronger. If… you want to,” he said bashfully, anxiously swirling the dry dirt with the tip of his shoe.

Gohan gazed down at his younger self with guarded face but mixed emotions. Though he wasn’t old, it seemed so long since he was that young and innocent. It was sad and eerie at the same time. But it also encouraged hope. And as his eyes turned to look at his deshi Trunks, he promised within himself that he would not allow the hopes and dreams of this world to be lost. “What do you say, Tes? Would you mind staying with these nice people, at least until we set up our own place?”

Trunks peered up into his shishou’s eyes so profoundly then, M. Gohan’s breath almost hitched. There was so much Trunks wanted to say to him, so much he felt, so much that was unfair and completely out of his control. But he did want to help save this world, did want to live and be part of it, so he did his best to swallow away negative thoughts and emotions. “That would be fine Brother. Thank you,” he said the last part to Goku and Gohan, politely bowing to them for their generosity.

“Think nothin’ of it,” said Goku kindly, rubbing the back of his head in the usual fashion. “I bet you boys could use a home cooked meal. How ‘bout we all head back home to Chichi?”

After Kuririn’s polite but brief farewell and departure to the air, Yamucha was trying to urge Bulma to go home with him, feeling like they were just a third wheel there now, but she wasn’t budging. Her eyes kept peering back and forth at the young lavender haired boy and strapping dark short-haired man his brother. There was something about them that she knew if she had more time she would figure out. And goodness if the strapping dark brunette young man wasn’t attractive, certainly steps up from Yamucha and not as obnoxious as Vegeta. Hmm, maybe…

“How about coming to stay at Capsule Corp. instead? You would be living in the lap of luxury every day, anything at your disposal, surely furthering your training along with more ease. I mean, you boys did not even have to come here, but you did, because it was the right thing to do. The least I can do is make sure your stay is as pleasant as possible,” urged Bulma, striving to sweeten the pot, her piercing sapphire eyes eyeing them each strongly.

Both Trunks and Mirai Gohan bit their lips. A huge part of them wanted very much to go there, to see a Capsule Corp. that wasn’t dishevelled and broken but thriving; Trunks more than M. Gohan for obvious reasons. But they both knew better. They could tell Trunks had yet to be conceived let alone born. It would be best for them to steer clear of there as not to interfere. And once Trunks laid eyes on young Gohan, seeing his bottom lip tremble despite his attempts to remain strong; Trunks’ mind was made up.

“Thank you very much Ma’am, but I think it is best we accept our first offer,” answered Trunks as politely as he could, striving with everything that was in him to keep his face even and not cry.

Bulma frowned but gave in to the strange urge to gently pet the lavender haired boy’s hair a short moment. “Alright. But know that the two of you are welcome at my home anytime, okay?” Both Trunks and M. Gohan nodded, watching wistfully as Yamucha flew with Bulma in his arms off into the distance.

Gohan gave in to the urge to pick up and hug Trunks then, letting him take comfort in his arms for a rare few minutes before setting him back down and squeezing his shoulder that way he did sometimes to show affection. The discomfited ten-year-old had been quite the trooper, and he was immensely proud of him.

After M. Gohan pushed a certain section on the spacecraft, it appeared to shimmy until there was nothing in place but a small rounded silver hued cube, which he picked up and placed in a pouch on his belt. He was relieved no one had asked to take a look inside it. “I think we’ll take you up on that offer of a home cooked meal,” said M. Gohan evenly then, his eyes tired though his face remained its usual stern. Trunks nodded his head in agreement, diligently wiping his face.

“Alright, let’s go!” shouted Goku, swiftly taking to the sky, Gohan, Piccolo, his adult son from the future and Trunks all following after him.

Chichi had fussed at first, thinking it not at all appropriate to just invite complete strangers to stay at their home. But once she laid a good eye on the strapping Mek, she couldn’t help but find him uncannily familiar. And seeing the little lavender haired boy called Tes, so close in age to her young son, she just couldn’t find it in her heart to turn either of them away.

After the monstrous feast—grand enough to feed a great army—of well-roasted dinosaur meat, tender rice, and very delectable arrays of mixed immaculately steamed and seasoned vegetables was all but devoured; Chichi set up bathroom and sleeping arrangements before bed, being the usual “shougun” in her home.    

Now that everything seemed to be in place, Piccolo was about to make his way out. After all, the house was full enough without him in it. And they could always change locations for training.

“Piccolo-san, you’re leaving?” asked M. Gohan, trying not to sound weak though his voice was painted with disappointment.

“The first part of our mission has been successfully accomplished. Now we must make ourselves stronger than ever in the years remaining… I do not usually stay at the Son residence overnight. The two of you have chosen to stay here, which is fine and probably for the best. Was there something more you needed?”

Gohan’s face hardened then, his sentou ryoku fluctuating with his anger and frustration before he calmed himself. Though he held him in the highest revere, Piccolo could certainly be exasperating, even dense at times. Yes, I need to speak with you. But since you do not seem to realise why, I shall save it for another day. “Goodnight Piccolo-san. Thank you, for everything.” And though M. Gohan wished immensely to do much more than merely hug his dear shishou, he settled for that for a long moment; relishing in the fact that Piccolo finally gave in and embraced him back before taking off back to Kami’s Temple, M. Gohan taking quickly to the guestroom of the Son residence to get some much needed rest himself.

Goku had watched the whole thing with knowing eyes, silently wishing his adult son luck for the next time. He had learned that he had been through so much at such a young age and on. Most of his life had been completely harsh and unfair. And Goku yearned immensely for both versions of his son to be happy.

“Son-san, he’s in love with him, isn’t he?” asked the precocious young lavender haired boy with shimmering hurt blue eyes, coming up beside Goku outside.

“Yes, he is Trunks.” At Trunks’ bulging eyes at the using of his real name, Goku elaborated. “Gohan passed a lot of knowledge to me today through that touch. I think it’s a Saiyajin thing, as I have done the same before. Our telepathy is not nearly as strong or natural as the Nameks’ is, but it’s there and easily accessible through touch. You’ve both been through a lot. And don’t worry, I didn’t tell young Gohan or anyone else. That will be entirely up to you. And you may call me Goku. I don’t mind. I’ve never liked that hierarchy stuff anyway. It only succeeds in dividing people, which is not a plus in any life. When we truly respect someone, it shows in all that we do and choose, don’t ya think?” Goku said with a warm smile so tender Trunks couldn’t help but smile too.

“Yeah,” Trunks finally uttered, wiping at his eyes, his lilac tail curling behind him past his blue pyjamas.

“Don’t be disheartened Trunks. My adult son loves you immensely as a dear younger brother, pupil, comrade, and friend. I was able to feel that when he passed things to me today. He feels so strongly for you, it’s truly indescribable. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. He just loves Piccolo in other ways; ways you needn’t fret over at your age. And, well, my younger son has already taken quite a liking to you too. I think he wants very much to get to know you and really be your friend.

“Please, be a child while you are one Trunks. I won’t claim to always make the right decisions or to always have the correct answers. But I promise you I’ll do all in my power to see that the horrors that happened in your world do not happen to this one, so you and all decent life on this planet can live safe, happily and freely here,” promised Goku with conviction, his face suddenly battle serious.

Trunks peered up at Goku in awe then, finally understanding why his mother had always had so much faith and love for this mighty yet gentle Saiyajin. And as he peered into those honest otherworldly black eyes, he truly believed him. It was then he realised it was that same indomitable goodness and strong spirit to fight which he loved in his sensei. Yes, he wanted him to be happy; he more than deserved to be. Good luck Gohan-san.

“Thanks Goku-san. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight… Tes,” said Goku awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head nervously, as little Gohan was in the doorway peering at them with wide eyes.

“Are you coming to bed Tes? Okaasan got the extra futons ready. We’re going to pick you guys up some better ones tomorrow though,” said Gohan cutely, rubbing at his tired eyes.

“Yes. A good sleep would be nice,” said Trunks softly, gingerly grasping hold of Gohan’s hand—which fit his own—and giving him a warm smile.

Gohan grinned from ear to ear then, his sable tail swishing positively behind him. “Goodnight Otousan!” he chirped happily, urging Trunks with him to his bedroom beginning to tell him about interesting stories he had read about during his studies.

Goku smiled lightly as he watched the younger ones go off to bed; though his mind became more contemplative. There was much to do; there were fights he could not afford to lose…

“What ya thinking about Dear?” suddenly asked Chichi, coming up beside him, attempting to hug his brawny person.

“About a lot of things, but mostly about how much I care about you, our family, our friends, this planet and all life on it. I won’t fail, zettai nai!” he said strongly, his eyes peering up attentively at the stars.

“Goku-sa?”

“Don’t ya worry Chi. Everything is goin’ to be just fine.” And with that, Goku took his wife into his arms and kissed her sweetly on the lips before embracing her warmly. They stood like that for some time under the stars before he urged her with him to bed. Tomorrow the real training would begin.

**Tsudzuku…**

**Arigatou Gozaimasu for reading minna-san.**


	4. FOUR

Though Trunks and Gohan wanted to participate; the violent kumite that had been happening in the sky for hours above the desert they had all flown to, proved to be too fierce for them to even attempt to join. Both young warriors could easily feel it without seeing Piccolo’s, Goku’s or Mek’s faces—they were giving their all, as much as they could without destroying the earth, anyway; the sky lit with their immense power and thundering with each and every mighty landed blow. Failure was not an option. And each adult senshis’ spirit was raring, forcing the others to pull out more and more of their selves with every precisely executed hit, kikoha and parry; every attack was saturated with determination and laced with hope for the future; the earth shuddering some under their continuous onslaught, the boys observing devotedly to learn as much as they could for when it was their turn.

Though, Gohan did momentarily take his eyes off the battle to gaze avidly at someone else. “Tes,” Gohan paused to make sure he was listening, his tail curling with his feelings as he fidgeted nervously, “do you like fighting?”

Profound blue eyes did stop their devoted observing of the extraordinary battle taking place above them then to peer at Gohan intently. “It is necessary to ensure evil does not succeed.”

“That’s not what I asked,” probed Gohan further, his large dark eyes just as precocious and imploring as Trunks’.

Trunks gazed at him intently for a long moment unmoving before answering, “No, I do not particularly enjoy fighting. But I would rather fight and give my all to see that the wicked and heartless fail in their cravenly foul schemes.”

Gohan nodded. “Yeah, that’s how I feel too. Though, I would much rather spend my time studying and exploring new things and environments, and playing with friends,” he paused a moment to gaze at Trunks affectionately, then blushing embarrassedly before continuing, to which Trunks remained intently listening.

“But… I yearn so much for Tousan and Piccolo-san to be proud of me. I want so much to be able to be strong and dependable like them; Piccolo-san in particular.” Gohan paused a moment, blushing even deeper in a way that made Trunks grin a little. “Piccolo-san is my shishou. My tousan is an alright person and an extraordinary warrior, and I know he means well, but he isn’t always the most dependable. Piccolo-san is a much better teacher and is almost always around when I really need him, without coddling me. I wouldn’t be as strong as I am now if not for him,” admitted Gohan sincerely, stars in his eyes as he shifted them and his head back up towards the bout high above them, to follow the adept movements of said person.

Trunks peered at Gohan for a long moment after that before returning his eyes to observe his own shishou. If this young Gohan was anything like how his shishou had been growing up, certain things made more sense now. No wonder his own sensei felt such a powerful need to fight but never really took any real joy in it; his face always taut or drawn. It had been the weightiest obligation, which his sensei felt both honoured and overwhelmed to do—to fight and defend to the last, as the last.

And tears filled Trunks eyes then as he realised then his dear shishou and friend had probably reached a point where he was just as eager to die in battle as to defeat the enemy. The change now was his shishou, in a way, had back all he had lost; giving him the firmer will not only to fight on and continue, but the desire to live once more. Thank goodness he had survived that last bout; that his mother had somehow made sure they both made it out of that heinous world.

Though, the realisation that he hadn’t been enough to make M. Gohan want to stay alive hurt Trunks beyond words. But, he-

“Goodness Tes, what’s the matter? Do you have a tummy ache? Do you need-?”

“I am alright Gohan-san,” uttered Trunks quickly, rubbing at his eyes embarrassedly. Though, he was taken completely off-guard when young Gohan took his face in his hands and began rubbing his cheeks with the pads of his thumbs in a soothing fashion.    

“Everything will get better now Tes; you’ll see. Things might not always be easy, but it can still be good, as long we don’t give up and keep our minds clear and our hearts pure,” said Gohan in a way that so reminded Trunks of the elder one, but was somehow so much sweeter, that he almost choked. “Yoshi, yoshi,” lulled Gohan, taking Trunks into his arms and petting his lavender locks caringly. “It’s okay to cry sometimes. Sometimes that is the only way to truly heal enough so that we can become stronger and move on.”

Trunks broke down entirely then; feeling great shame for breaking down in the in arms of a child younger than him, but strangely comforted by the fact that it was still, in a way, his shishou’s arms around him; taking much needed comfort in his sweet scent and honest affection.

Neither youngster seemed to notice that the battle above had strangely halted; each adult peering downward, their own distinct feelings roiling at the scene. Goku was proud of his young son for being kind to a new friend. Though sad at how the two had come to be in their world, he was happy M. Gohan and Trunks were there; pleased to see his little son alight and able to be around one near his own age for once. Piccolo’s face actual broke his usual stoic habit to slightly frown as he observed how stern, possibly even angrily M. Gohan was peering down at Trunks and the younger Gohan. There were immensely negative vibes clicking from him. Hadn’t everything gone well thus far? What on Earth was his problem?

“Mek, was there something you needed to say?” Piccolo finally probed sternly, not at all liking the negative waves he felt emanating from his deshi from the future.

Gohan turned to peer at him hard then a moment, before his face deflated entirely of emotion. “I assure you I am fine, Piccolo-san. I just think I shall take the rest of the day to train alone,” he uttered in a cold monotone, before blasting away from the group entirely.

Piccolo actually did frown fully then for a short moment before making his face return to its usual stoic. He had no idea what on Earth was wrong all of the sudden, but he knew his adult deshi would come back around when he was ready. Whatever the problem was, he wasn’t going to coddle him. M. Gohan was a young man. If there was something he needed to speak, he’d better damn well do so or be quiet about it altogether.

Goku frowned then too; a bit disappointed in and bemused of his son from the future. Though, he knew his adult son would have to come to his own conclusions as his own man, whatever they were. If he really wanted something bad enough, it was up to him to make it so, which he believed he would eventually.

Trunks reluctantly pulled away from young Gohan then; his head turning in the direction his shishou had flown. “What happened?” he asked both Piccolo and Goku once they landed nearby him and Gohan.

He’s being a twenty-year-old brat; Piccolo thought to himself but refrained from speaking.

“I think he just needs a moment Tr-, eh, Tes,” fumbled Goku with his words, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly at his slip. It was so much more natural to call him Trunks since he knew that was his real name. Young Gohan was the only one in their odd little family who didn’t know now; well, him and Chichi. M. Gohan hadn’t wanted his mother to know who he really was; thinking all her affection should go to her little son who actually belonged in this time. He had also left it up to Trunks whether or not he wanted to reveal his own true name and origins to Gohan or anyone else.

Gohan peered up at his father curiously. This wasn’t the first time he had heard his father slip while speaking with Tes. He was certain then there was a greater secret about Tes and Mek than anyone was letting on about. And being the inquisitive young soul he was, he was determined to find out.

“Well boys, whattaya say we head back for lunch now. Mek’ll come back when he’s ready.” Both young boys nodded their heads in the affirmative, following Goku back to the Son house; Piccolo deciding to follow. While solid food wasn’t a necessity to Piccolo, Chichi could cook. And every now and then he did not mind “sampling” some.   

I don’t belong here. This isn’t my world. I should have perished in battle. Kuso! Trunks… He doesn’t need me now, and I… No. I mustn’t be so selfish. I will do all I can do make sure this world never sees the hells we’ve been through…

Gohan’s thoughts continued in the same direction as he precisely executed advanced kata after kata; his own style painting his lonely, deadly dance as he forced himself to train alone in a very inhospitable wasteland; intent to go many hours more, though he was halted by an unexpected surprise.

He wasn’t surprised that Piccolo was coming to him—his dear shishou was usually most observant and would no doubt want to know what was up with him—but the grand boxes he flew on the sides of with him, utilising not Ki control, but his extraordinary telekinesis to do so, did have M. Gohan somewhat baffled.

“Piccolo-san?”

“Your mother’s senses are more adept than your father’s sometimes, I swear… She wouldn’t let me have a morsel, making sure I brought you your share,” grumbled Piccolo, with a scowl.

“What?”

Unfolding and laying out the large red blanket he had carried and placing the multiple huge Son family-sized bentos of food upon it neatly, Piccolo sat down gracefully. “Whether intuition or spirit, I’d say your mother knows it’s you on some level; her maternal instincts urging her to do that extra for a ‘stranger’ she normally wouldn’t. So, here’s lunch. Would you eat already so I can have some?” urged Piccolo clearly exasperated.

Gohan’s eyes widened then before he burst up into a fit of honest laughter. In all his days, he would have never thought he would witness such a look on his shishou’s face; let alone for something so silly.

Piccolo appeared less than impressed with Gohan’s behaviour. “Mind telling me what’s so hilarious, or better yet, what all that mess was earlier?” urged Piccolo pressingly, folding his arms, his face returning to its usual stoic as he gazed at Gohan seriously.

Gohan quickly wiped the laughter earned tears from his eyes, took a few deep breaths and gazed at Piccolo just as utterly. He yearned greatly to open up to him, but was afraid of what Piccolo would think of him.

“Well?” Piccolo had been going to let Gohan come to him on his own, but since he was there, they may as well get the conversation over with.

Gohan bit his lip but began resolutely answering anyway after, “Today I… Well, seeing Trunks and my younger self together—the way that he seemed to understand and take better care of Trunks than myself—hurt my pride. It just seemed as if I’m not really needed here. I…” Gohan stopped himself from relaying his darker thoughts of earlier. He had been thinking selfish and foolishly, like a spoiled adolescent. There was really no excuse for his behaviour. He ought to be much smarter, wiser than that by now. And-

“Gohan,” Piccolo paused to bring a hand to Gohan’s shoulder, squeezing it firmly before speaking further, “You’re actually jealous of your younger self,” he said more than asked, pausing for a moment in disbelief. “I never would have thought I would feel the need to call you silly Gohan… While you have been through a lot, that is never an excuse to be a coward. I know you’re better than that, which is how you became part of my heart.

“As for Trunks and your younger self, you of all persons ought to understand what it’s like not to have someone near your age around. Neither of them has had someone like them and close to the same age around before. It’s only natural that they form bonds as such. But Trunks is strong and has made it this far because of his stern but caring shishou. Do not ever regret doing the best you could for him, as I know you have.” He paused then to sigh at Gohan’s distraught countenance. “I for one, would be significantly saddened and at a loss if you were gone Gohan. So too would Trunks, your father, mother and even young Gohan.

“You are part of his world, this universe now. It is okay to live, Gohan,” finished Piccolo with full conviction, his sagacious serious eyes not leaving the widened and tearing up ones of his dear adult deshi.

In his wisdom he knew that Gohan had only been acting out today in frustration. As he had pondered further on it, he realised Gohan was still having some survivors’ guilt; it eating Gohan up with all the other negative thoughts his complex mind could fester. And a huge part of him did yearn to help him move on; his arms awkwardly going around Gohan, the dam of the young warrior’s anguish breaking once more as he held him in his protective arms.

Reluctantly, Gohan cleared his throat and pulled away after a few moments; beginning to wipe at his eyes religiously with the purple handkerchief Piccolo proffered him, truly shamed at his own behaviour but ever grateful that Piccolo was such an amazing person.

Once his eyes were clear again, he attempted speech once more, “You’ve changed Piccolo-san,” he remarked honestly, his eyes still shimmering.

Piccolo actually broke his usual façade and flushed a deep purple in his cheeks, before forcing his face to be hardened once more. “You’ve come a long way too kid, so do not ever even think of throwing it away again, for any reason. Don’t make me snap your neck,” said Piccolo sternly.

“Ah, Piccolo-san, I promise,” promised Gohan, smirking lightly, reminded of the days when he was a small child and Piccolo had promised many times then to “snap” his neck if he didn’t act right and persevere during their training. He was truly thankful for all Piccolo had done for him, for all he still did. He certainly wouldn’t be the person he was today otherwise.

“Then I know, as the brilliant young man you are, you’ll keep it.” I’ve always believed you could do anything, Gohan. Always.

There was a short awkward silence as both senshi thought of the other, until Gohan’s stomach growled rather loudly, causing him to chuckle nervously and blush. “I guess we better get started on this nice meal my mother prepared.”

“Indeed,” conveyed Piccolo with a smirk, it turning to a real smile when Gohan finally mirrored it.

Hashi and dishes clamoured as another Chichi-made hearty meal was being readily ingested by her, two demi-Saiyajin and her husband at the dining table; the last having of course the most monstrous appetite of all, enjoying every frenzied bite with his usual lack of manners or restraint.

Chichi sighed after having chewed and swallowed a medium bite of tender rice and meat; looking up thoughtfully as she pondered on their two guests. Both the lavender-haired child and the strapping dark young man had such severity and sorrow to them whenever she laid eyes on them, those forced smiles not fooling her at all, which did tighten her chest in ways she could not explain.

No one had told her much about them, other than that they were half Saiyajin who had lost their family, and were going to stay on Earth to help them fight some supposed monsters they had no proof of knowing if and precisely when or how they would come. And she did not at all believe the story that the two were brothers. They might be close, but she could bet they had two different sets of parents between them. And she could tell Goku felt guilty for lying to her, but he refused to let up no matter how she pushed him for the full truth; not to mention the strange familiarity she felt with the strapping dark young man. The whole thing just made her hackles rise! She deserved to know the details of what was really going on; especially since they were living in her house!

“Anou, Okaasan?” enquired Gohan softly.

“What is it sweetie?”  

“Are you alright?” asked Gohan worriedly.

“Sure honey, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, you broke your chopsticks between your fingers and have been growling for the last two minutes,” he informed with wide eyes.

Chichi looked at her right hand, which still crushingly held broken in half chopsticks, and then back at every person at the table; a vivid embarrassed rose flush painting her face as she saw that even Goku had stopped eating, everyone’s wide eyes solely on her.

“I am fine dear, just thinking,” she said matter-of-factly, waving it off before excusing herself to get another pair of hashi.

Somehow she would get the answers she sought. Until then, she needed to remain cool and collected. My goodness she ought to be more mindful than that!

Gohan rubbed his full belly, looked up thoughtfully at the seemingly slow passing clouds and exuded a pleased sigh. He would never get sick of his mother’s cooking or even her stern, stout-hearted nature; his eyes shimmering a bit with emotion as he realised just how lucky he really was to get to live in a world where she still lived and breathed.

Piccolo scrutinised Gohan intently as his face pointed toward the late afternoon sky; truly yeaning to know what Gohan was contemplating. Although with his powerful telepathic abilities Piccolo could find out precisely for himself, he would not allow himself to impose on Gohan’s privacy. He hoped by then Gohan would feel free enough to speak to him about anything he felt the need to; that-

“Piccolo-san?”

“Hmm?”

“May I ask you a personal question?”

“You may. Though, I maintain every right to decline answering if I so see fit,” answered Piccolo seriously, gazing at Gohan more profoundly than before, his heart beginning to speed up for reasons he himself was uncertain of.

Gohan bit his lip then, closing his eyes once a moment before opening and locking them on Piccolo’s. “Have you ever been in love?”

Piccolo almost choked on his own tongue then; his eyes narrowing after he quickly straightened up his person. He had not been ready for that question. But at least now a lot of the cold and imploring looks his adult deshi had been giving him off and on made more sense. He would have never thought such a thing could be possible. And quite frankly, it gave him mixed feelings to know such. So, rather than concoct some extravagant lie, he told Gohan the truth.

“No, I have never been in romantic love before. But there are many types of love… There are only two persons in the universe I care enough for that I would give my very life for them without a moment’s hesitation; two who bear the same name and parents, though they each have their own lives and destinies,” answered Piccolo earnestly.     

Gohan peered at him for a long moment; striving with every shred of will within him not to break down right there. Hadn’t he showed enough weakness in front of his dear shishou? Goodness he ought to have more control than that! And yet, the admission from Piccolo that he cared for both he and the Gohan who actually belonged in this time, more than any other, did touch his heart.

Though he knew he had no right to ask, he could not stop his heart from speaking further, “D-do you think it’s possible for you to fall in romantic love?” he finally asked, swallowing thickly as a lump seemed to form in his throat.

Piccolo looked away almost cutely before allowing his eyes to return to Gohan and answered, “It is not impossible,” his cheeks colouring slightly purple and majestic ears flapping against his skull in his odd bout of nervousness.

Neither had realised just how much closer in proximity their bodies had come to each other on the blanket; their breaths ghosting over each other’s faces. Though, Piccolo could feel the next question tickle the edges of his psyche without Gohan having to say it. He knew they both cared for each other immensely from what they thought they knew about each other. But the fact was they were different people, from different times and universes. They really needed to get to know one another again before promising anything to each other.

Though, it was also then that Piccolo thought he would at least test their physical chemistry; a rare wave of actually curiosity at what he had witnessed others do on many occasions but had never experienced himself pushing him forward; his eyes closing and lips tentatively pressing to Gohan’s, sealing the gap between them.

The spark was instant; blissful fire coiling within each of their bellies and shooting to their groins. Piccolo felt so discombobulated, so strangely breathless for the first time in his life, that it took a moment for him to realise Gohan had roughly forced him onto his back, wrapping around him closer, possessively. But when a hot tongue and sharp canines harshly probed his lips, seeking entrance and Gohan’s touches became aggressive enough for his nails to break skin; Piccolo fought back, brusquely shoving Gohan off of him.

Yes, he should have known better. Piccolo had unwittingly witnessed how raunchy Goku could get on the entire week of the full moon, every month since Dende had returned it. If Chichi had been any other woman, she probably would not have survived, let alone tolerated it; Goku’s Saiyajin instincts and propensities the most powerful then. Yes, he probably ought not to have given in to his curiosity, but even he let it get the best of him sometimes. And as he gazed upon his hunched, panting, pupil-dilated, canine lengthened, tail-flicking adult deshi; he did feel the need to stand and reclaim some dominance before things went too far.

“Gohan! Control yourself better than that! What happened to all your training?!” Piccolo yelled loudly.

Gohan’s movements stopped then; his nostrils twitching as he sniffed avidly at the air around them. Eventually his breath slowed and realisation dawned on his face. “Gods! Piccolo, I’m so sorry. I never meant to-”

“It’s alright. It was kind of my fault too, so let’s just move on from here...” Piccolo paused a moment, slightly nervous about what he was to say next. Though, if he was honest with himself, he did desire it too. “Are you sure I am what you want in a life mate Gohan? Are you positive it’s the right time; that you are not-?”

Gohan swiftly stopped him right there. “Piccolo-san I love you very much, always have and I always will no matter what does or doesn’t happen between us. But yes, I do desire a deep and romantic and physical relationship with you; as long as you feel the same…

“Tomorrow is not promised to any of us. Is it such a crime to be happy today?”

Piccolo’s quickly looked away, begging his eyes to quit betraying him. No, he absolutely would not cry! Just because he could feel the genuine love emanating from Gohan for him—so profound and ardent unlike any other ever had for him—did not mean he would lose all control of his body and functions like some weak poorly conditioned Earthling. He was much better trained than that!

But as Gohan took him in his brawny arms, he immediately reciprocated said embrace; sighing deeply as he truly savoured the real warmth and intimacy shared between them then.

“Does this mean you’ll go out with me?” whispered Gohan earnestly by his ear, making him shiver.

“Are you done with all the foolish thoughts?”

“I can’t promise I’ll never again have another foolish thought Piccolo-san; I don’t think anyone can promise that honestly. But yes, I promise to quit allowing myself to drown in thought and react foolishly instead of acting wisely as I can.”

“And…you’re sure?”

“Yes Piccolo-sama,” answered Gohan with shimmering honest, yearning eyes; Piccolo’s eyes bulging at the more respectful honorific used, wondering if Gohan wasn’t playing with him or not, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t mind if I call you that sometimes, do you?”

“I guess not Gohan, but it is not necessary-”

“I know Piccolo-san, I know.”

After gazing at one another for a long moment both quieted and sat back on the large red blanket; both sets of eyes angled up at the sky as they sat back and rested on their hands and elbows, each heart beating just a little stronger as many hopes for the future rang true within them.

When Goku, Gohan and Trunks finally came out to meet Piccolo and M. Gohan to continue their training from earlier; Goku smiled. Piccolo and his adult son from the future were already sparring quite strongly, something profound very changed between them in the right direction.

Trunks could not help the frown that came to his own face as he saw them smiling together. And young Gohan mirrored his frown, yearning for his lavender haired friend to be happy, displeased with his discomfiture, and a little jealously of his own filling him for the first time at seeing Piccolo actually fully smile around someone not himself.

Both young senshi immediately took a go at Goku together then, letting him know they were serious and would not be left out like they had been earlier; the need to release some of that angst certainly necessary for both.  

**Tsudzuku…**

**Arigatou Gozaimasu for reading minna-san.**


	5. FIVE

Uhn! M. Gohan awoke with a start, a disquieted Trunks peering at him from his bedside worriedly. “Gohan-san?”

“I’m fine. Just a bad dream, nothing to worry about.” He knew Trunks wasn’t buying it, but he wasn’t going to go into detail about such a personal akumu with his ten-year-old deshi; striving with his all to keep a straight face. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be fine.”

Trunks frowned, but did as he was told, glancing at M. Gohan one last time on his way back to the room he shared with young Gohan. He knew there were gaps between him and his shishou that surpassed age, but it did not stop him from yearning to be there for him and closer to him, from caring for him so. M. Gohan and his mother had been the only two that he had known for most of his young life. And he did care more for both of them than words could say; his frustration mounting in this new world, even though he was grateful for all that he had now.

Though he was young, he and M. Gohan had already been through a lot together; Trunks wishing they were closer than they were. And though his young chest ached once again, he swallowed thickly, stubbornly keeping any tears from falling from his eyes; quietly returning to the room he and the Gohan belonging to this timeline shared, and slipping back into his futon near him.

Gohan tentatively let his tail out from under the bedding to gently pet Tes comfortingly, once he felt him come in. As the days went on, he was becoming increasingly more jealous of Mek and Piccolo. Not only was Mek stealing the attentions of his shishou Piccolo, but Tes was always more interested in what Mek was doing too. And he would bet for sure—now that he had gotten to know and scent each of them often—that Mek and Tes were certainly not brothers. He even finally caught his father calling Tes by what was most certainly his real name, letting it slide then, which he would not forget.

Though he cared for them all greatly with his young heart; he was feeling closer to Tes, at least, he wanted to be. The more he thought of it, he was actually happy to see Piccolo happy. His dear shishou deserved to be happy, to not be alone so much. As long as Mek never hurt Piccolo, he supposed he wouldn’t hate him.  

But… Why? Why was he so powerless? Why could he not help Tes smile, ease the pain evident in his eyes the way Piccolo did for Mek? Why did he push him away? Why…?

“Gohan. What is wrong? Are you alright?” suddenly enquired Trunks, real worry shining in his dark blue eyes.  

Gohan’s lip began to tremble as he strived to grasp control of his feelings. And after taking a few deep breaths, he finally steeled himself; turning to gaze at Trunks seriously.

“Trunks, I know that is your real name. I just want you to know that I am here for you. You can tell me anything. I promise it will stay between us. You do not have to carry those burdens alone, whatever they are. I am your friend, Trunks,” averred Gohan as earnestly as he could, his eyes shimmering with honest emotion.

Trunks’ mouth opened and closed. He was at a loss for words for a few moments before sighing heavily. “I am most grateful for your friendship Gohan. There is so much I would not have been able to handle without you… But there are things I must not share with you. I don’t want you to—”

“I am strong enough Trunks! Please. Tell me who you and Mek really are. I know he’s not your brother. Please, let me really be your friend. You don’t have to hide and suffer alone.”

Trunks bit his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. He could not stand to see such sorrow in Gohan’s eyes, his hand reaching out to gently tousle in his thick dark spikes of hair affectionately. And the avid sincerity was enough to steal the air from the room. But Trunks merely sighed once more, pulling Gohan into an embrace needed by both.  

Once he was sure Trunks was back in bed, M. Gohan quickly and quietly got up, dressed and took off out the window. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep after that; he biting his lip as he strove to keep his emotions at bay, horrid memories not allowing him any solace or hope of peaceful meditation, despite his training. He knew not where he was going; only that he needed to keep flying for however long it took to breath at least somewhat peacefully again.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Piccolo’s ears twitched as a familiar pained voice reached his ears; he quickly coming out of his meditative levitating pose and flying to his desired destination as swiftly as he could.

Once he got there, he could not believe what he was seeing. His adult deshi was curled up on the ground in the foetal position, moaning and shuddering in utter abjection. Piccolo had to swallow to stop the horrified gasp from escaping his throat. What on Earth?!

Sidling up as quietly as he could after landing, Piccolo carefully made his way over to his dear adult deshi and new life partner; hoping with his whole heart that he could somehow make it better.

“Gohan?” whispered Piccolo gently, gingerly placing a hand on M. Gohan’s shuddering shoulder.

Gohan immediately stilled, an agonising and embarrassed keen emitting from him right after; he quickly standing and haphazardly wiping his flushed face.

“H-hi Piccolo-san,” he finally said pitifully.

“Gohan, what—?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Just forget it. I’ll go back home after I settle some.”

“That’s not healthy Gohan, and you know it,” urged Piccolo more seriously, grasping Gohan’s chin so he would look at him.

Gohan tried to pull out of his grasp, but as an extraordinary Super Namekkuseijin; Piccolo was still currently the most powerful being on the planet, easily holding him firm despite Gohan’s agitated struggling. He cared for him too much to just allow him to drown in anguish alone. If they were truly partners now, they both needed to be able to be there for the other when needed.

“What could make _you_ weep in such a way, Gohan? What troubles you so? Is that not what part of being in a serious romantic relationship is about? Aren’t we supposed to be able to share not only our ups but our downs with each other? Suffering alone for nothing helps no one… Please Gohan, if I can help, let me.”

Gohan peered up into his eyes then with his own harried eyes widened in incredulity and sorrow. He wanted so much to tell Piccolo the truth. But the shame of what he had suddenly remembered that night—that horrible night terror, no past memory—was truly more than he could bear. He could not put it into words just then, so settled on allowing Piccolo into his mind; leaving himself as wide open as his heart felt raw.

Piccolo actually gasped at the sudden slew of raw newly unburied memories that began to deluge into his mind at Gohan’s will, he having to take controlled breaths to steady himself. Haggard tears filled his eyes at years of Gohan’s torment by the jinzou ningen; though one in particular stood out like lighting to his skull—the one where Gohan had first been brutally… No. He had been a child. He… _No…!_

His eyes finally opened with sheer horror coating them. “Gohan…” Piccolo really did not know what else to say. Only Gohan could let him know what could possibly be even a slight lenitive balm after enduring such anguish alone for so long.

An agonised croak released from Gohan before he took some cleansing breaths and began. “I gave my all Piccolo-san. I had felt all them die one after the other, not long after my father was gone; all of them letting their pride stop them from fighting together.

“You were the last Z Senshi alive aside from me. I know you always being the astute, wondrous warrior you are knew you didn’t stand a chance against them alone; knew we did not stand a chance against them even together, at least not then. So, you made sure I was knocked unconscious, so that I could not fight with you…”

Piccolo swallowed the lump in his throat, but remained silent as Gohan continued to pour his heart out with weighty tears streaming down his face; his own face not unmarred by tears of his own as he listened aptly.

“You no doubt fought them alone with your all, as the amazing warrior you’ve always been. By the time I woke, your ki was too low to sense. I began weeping immediately, searching frantically for your body, your scent, for the slight chance that you just might pull through.

“When I finally found the decimated city you had fought them in—after they had already murdered everyone there—it took nearly a day to carefully search through all the debris and bloodied bodies, to finally find the mutilated remains of yours... I-I didn’t even get to say goodbye!” croaked Gohan, snuffling as he tried to continue.

“And… Then, as I still held what was left of your bloodied limbless torso and head, I could hear that I was not alone. He and his rotten blonde sister, those horrible jinzou ningen with dastardly ice blue eyes both took turns beating on me. I powered up to my maximum; hatred and anger for what they had done to you fuelling my power and still small and young person as much as I could.

“I held out for a little while before they both bashed me so hard in the head I couldn’t see straight. The next moment I was conscious I felt an indescribable agony lace my spine, insurmountable pressure and pain I didn’t understand then. But when I looked up, that heinous face that peered down at me smugly, while continuing to rape me in more ways than one, was indelibly burned into my mind.

“They were truly evil, cowardly; as vile as evil can be. No matter how hard I trained, I was never strong enough. Every time after they won a fight against me…they would both…again… And then years later Candida stole my revenge; for you, for me…” whispered Gohan pitifully, trying to turn away.

Piccolo felt more profound and diverse emotions then than ever, but he forced himself to push the more negative ones down, that he might deliver some level of succour; pulling Gohan in to his person and holding firmly to him, his cape wrapped protectively around both of them.

Words were thoroughly inadequate, so Piccolo said none; gently rocking and holding his dearest continuously until he heard a sadly quiet aggrieved plea, “Piccolo-san, please, give new memories not tainted. Make love to me now, please?” pleaded Gohan wearily, his harried dark eyes causing Piccolo’s to frown deeper.

“Gohan, you can’t really want that now.”

“Please Piccolo. There was so much I have been repressing without realising. You are the only one who can change my hidoi akumu to utsukushii yume. I need you now. _Onegai, Piccolo-san_?!”

Piccolo knew very well neither of them was ready to take that leap in their relationship. And doing so for the wrong reasons would only doom them further in the future. So to take Gohan’s attention away, he did move and osculate him fully on the lips; putting as much passion and love into the kiss as he possibly could, furtively using his long arm and ki charged claw tips to knock Gohan unconscious from behind.

Piccolo sighed deeply as he held onto to Gohan’s limp form; tears streaming down his face as he sent the most positive and happy dreams he could think of to Gohan’s mind as he psychically made him really sleep soundly.

Though as an adept master of psychokinesis and the mind he easily could and half of him yearned to, he would not attempt to cover or rebury Gohan’s memories. They had finally surfaced on their own. If he was going to live a full and healthy life, he needed to remember everything, without being tormented by anything. He needed to fully accept the truth without allowing it to dictate the rest of his life.

The journey to healing Gohan’s mind and heart would no doubt be difficult beyond words. But Piccolo vowed then with his whole soul that he would be there for him the entire way, whatever it took.   

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 “It’s okay Trunks. It’ll be okay,” lulled Gohan softly, after listening to the boy’s honest woes; his own young face wrought with tears but his eyes determined. He would not fail his new precious friend. They would make it together.

“G-Gohan-san, doushite? Why did…?”

And Gohan remained silent as his friend from the future continued the necessary purgative cry in his arms. They had both become much closer to each other once Trunks finally confessed who he and Mek really were and where they were from.

Though, both young boys gasped, blushed and swiftly got up to wash and dress once Chichi called everyone in for breakfast.

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When M. Gohan finally woke, it was to an extremely unfamiliar sight, but one that made him smile. He was able to catch a glimpse of Piccolo through the passageway as he was rummaging about an unfamiliar kitchen, adjacent the room with the grand fluffy indigo clad bed he was currently in, trying to cook? It was an amazing sight—Piccolo’s cape and turban traded for a plain white apron over his usual purple gi. Gohan could not help but bite his lip and admire a moment before slowly getting up.

Gohan remembered last night and opening up everything to Piccolo. But for some reason he felt lighter than usual. The habitual severity that ruled his person after many harsh years of growing up under heinous circumstances was not as intense, the anguish of knowing not as sharp; making him sigh quietly as he made his way to what he was sure was the lavatory. Wherever they were, the place was small, yet still cosy, warm somehow; making M. Gohan’s tail curl pleasantly as he moved about.

Piccolo paused a moment, his ears twitching as he easily caught the sound of M. Gohan waking. But he remained silent; hoping the forced thorough slumber he had given his adult deshi had helped heal him, at least somewhat. The rest would take time, and he would do his best to aid his beloved as much as possible on that journey.

**Tsudzuku…**


	6. SIX

“Now power up and remain in full control of it.”

“But Gohan-san!” griped Trunks.

“No ‘buts’.”

“You too Gohan,” Piccolo sternly urged his younger deshi.

“But Piccolo-san!”

“What’s this I hear? You’re actually going to let Earth be destroyed?!” sternly pressed both M. Gohan and Piccolo stalwartly to their respective pupils in powerful sync. Their fire was lit, and they refused to fail their precious deshi or the earth. They could not afford to have shortcomings.

Both younger boys gazed at each other intently before looking back to their own sensei earnestly. “No. We will protect Chikyuu and all the life we love which she holds!” shouted Trunks and Gohan in unison, making both their shishou slightly grin with pride as they fought to bring their sentou ryoku higher through will.

Goku observed keenly on the side-lines, his eyes immensely more serious than usual. Time had been passing swiftly, too swiftly for his liking, and though each of them had become significantly stronger through diligent daily training, something he could not quite put his finger on bothered him greatly. It was not like him to lack optimism, but the insistent foreboding he felt had not let his mind fully ease for a moment. He could only hope and pray that what had happened in a certain universe would not happen to this one, that nothing worse would come and that they could overcome what- and whoever did.

Cutting in on the developed kumite, Goku began going at Piccolo seriously; leaving M. Gohan to go at the children. And he went hard; Piccolo feeling the sheer determination in Goku’s spirit and ki, giving him all he could in return, matching him powerful blow after blow and upping the ante when the time was right, pushing forward to make them both stronger.

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“Gohan-san…”

“Hmm?”

“Are… Are you happy here?” Trunks asked his shishou tentatively as they rested under the late afternoon sky with their arms behind their heads.

  1. Gohan turned to peer at his deshi intently then. “That is something I have been meaning to ask you Trunks. Our world is gone, but our lives are not over. We fight for this world now, just as our own. Do you dislike it? Have you not yet felt this place to be home?” What do you truly wish Trunks? If only you could understand how much I wish for only the best for you. If I could have saved our world…



“The Sons and you have made this place warm. Even Piccolo-san is pretty cool, once you get used to him. I really am grateful for all I have here, and I want to protect all of it...”

“But? Do you wish to see your mother here, get to know your father? They are both living here and now. Do you wish to tell them the truth before the battles begin? For, if you do I will go with you in full support. Bulma is pregnant with your counterpart now, so there should be no harm in them knowing.”

Trunks’ eyes lit up for a short moment, his tail curling cutely, before he tried to make his face serious again. “I would like that Gohan-san. But, even more than that, I really wish for you to be happy,” confessed Trunks earnestly, his dark piercing blue eyes imploring Gohan for honesty.

Gohan sighed then, his dark onyx eyes hardening and lingering back to the sky. “I am content, for now,” he answered as calmly as possible. There were just things he never wanted Trunks to know or have to understand. “But I will be much better once we have defeated _them_ ,” he finished strongly; knowing nothing else needed saying after that.

“Ah,” answered Trunks in agreement. Nothing would truly feel right until they were sure this world was safe from the terrors they knew only too well.

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“Piccolo-san…”

“Yes Gohan?”

“Do you love me?”

Piccolo sat up swiftly then from his rarely resting pose; his keen dark eyes gauging Gohan seriously. “I think you know by now I care for you a great deal Gohan. You are my deshi…and precious friend,” rarely admitted Piccolo to his young pupil, keeping his face trained, though purple dusted his exquisite midoriiro cheeks.

Gohan giggled then, earning a questioning frown from his sensei. “I know. You are such a great person Piccolo-san, and I feel the same. But, I meant the other, bigger me,” probed Gohan again; his giggling beginning once more as he caught the majestic sight of his shishou’s flushed cheeks, the pretty violet hue climbing his ears.

Piccolo cleared his throat and looked away. “That is none of your business Gohan,” he uttered curtly, clearly embarrassed and off put.

“I take that as a ‘yes’,” dared Gohan, his youthful giggle trickling up his throat again despite his best efforts to calm it.

Piccolo just sighed quietly in rare defeat. Neither Gohan knew just how immensely important they were to him, just how very much their presence eased and lifted his soul, gave hope to it, despite all that was wrong with the universe. And he would do all he could to make both of them stronger; hoping they both learned to be holistically well and were able to find the veritable joy within themselves, which he knew they each deserved, as they continued to grow as the amazing people he knew they were.

“You just earned yourself some extra hard training kid.”

Gohan turned to peer at Piccolo attentively then. “I wouldn’t have it any other way Piccolo-san.” The pure smile he gave Piccolo then made both hearts flutter with pure warmth as they rose to begin training once more.

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“They’re beautiful, aren’t they Piccolo-san?”

“What?”

“The stars.”

“I suppose that is a matter of opinion; as terms like ‘beauty’ always depend on the beholder.”

“You do not like them?”

“It is not a matter of like or dislike for me. Like any other celestial objects in the universe, once they have formed, they are part of it regardless of anyone’s desire or lack thereof for them. But, I think I understand what you mean. I suppose looking up at the sky on a clear night like this could be considered… lovely, pleasing. The universe is vast, holding so much more than we could ever hope to fully comprehend or see in one lifetime. However, things pleasing to the eye, to the mind, can be dangerous,” finished Piccolo seriously, his eyes locked to the sky, a silent prayer in his heart.

“I guess you are right Piccolo-san. It was just rare that I ever got the chance to just look up at the stars in peace, before,” admitted M. Gohan softly, his eyes still trained to the sky. It is truly the first time you are letting me do so with you Piccolo-san, without exhaustedly resting after battle or training being the reason.

Piccolo bit his lip at that, turning over on the blanket they shared out in an open wilderness to gaze at him intently. “Do you still regret surviving, Gohan?” he implored seriously, his chest already tight in apprehension, though his face maintained its trained stoicism.

Gohan was silent a long moment before turning to Piccolo, his dark battle-worn-soul eyes peering at his with ultimate seriousness. “I had, for a long while there. But your patience and love are giving me the chance to recover… I know now that I wish to win the fight, the war—not for any ignorant folly as revenge, for one life, especially a craven evil one could never possibly equal or have even a fraction of as much worth as an actual honest decent worthwhile one—but to protect those I love and continue living on with them, _with you_.” I have real hope for the future for the first time in my life because of you, Piccolo-san.

Warmth bloomed throughout Piccolo’s body and soul, his chest and cheeks especially warm. He yearned so immensely to…

Many times since training for their imminent foes did the two end up pushing each other away when these quiet yet pressing, intimate moments came about; neither feeling fully ready to go forward in their relationship, though they both increasingly felt the desire to. And as their eyes spoke the depths their tongues often failed to, just for this moment did they allow one another a short reprieve from terror, loneliness and regret; Gohan initiating their first kiss since he had confessed to Piccolo what had been done to him as a child in that universe he could never return to.

Piccolo surprised him in hungrily answering his kiss, his tongue slipping into his mouth of its own accord and body shifting to lie on top of his own, deft hands groping at him so near avidly, Gohan felt real initial unease. But he knew first-hand just how thoroughly his dear shishou did everything; never half-arsed, always solid. There had always been a unique and fiery passion in him, even if others failed to see it through his perpetual protective mask. He had always known there was this incredibly powerful yet delicate inferno within his beloved shishou. Even if this was not precisely the one from the world which he came, the soul resounded with the same authentic majesty. And he was assuredly grateful for that; relieved beyond words that he could finally allow touch outside of battle or training without feeling completely lost, helpless, dirty or strange. In Piccolo’s arms he felt whole, protected, and ready to drown in waves of ardent blissful warmth with him for as long as they could together. Or so he thought.

Piccolo immediately stopped and pulled away as he tasted Gohan’s tears slip into what had been a warm kiss, his stomach dropping. Had he been too aggressive? Should he have gently pushed him away again? “Gohan? What—?”

“Do not stop Piccolo-san. I beg you, please don’t stop.” I must get through this somehow: I must move forward or I’ll never be able to.

Lamenting anguish thoroughly permeated Piccolo’s face then. “Gohan, I do not wish to hurt you. We do not have to do this if you are not ready. Please do not feel as if you have to: that is never the right way to do this.” Forgive me for being so insensitive. I thought you were ready. I thought we both felt…

Gohan cupped Piccolo’s concerned face in his hands, bringing their foreheads together, opening a mental link.

 _I am sorry Piccolo-san. I want so much to be ready, to move on from this and live my life the way I wish… I will probably cry every time… until… The agony of haunting memories is impossible to overcome until you fill me with new ones; until we have won._ Please don’t hate me. I am sorry I’m so weak.

Piccolo’s form trembled then, a new nervousness pervading him as Gohan’s thoughts to him sunk in. Gohan was essentially begging him to fill him with memories great enough to overpower every atrociously rancid one still cruelly ailing his soul. That he had so much faith in him touched the depths of his soul. That he believed that much in him gave him pause, the sheer weight of such a responsibility and request making him doubt himself more than he ever had; made him distrust his own ability to be good enough for his dear Gohan, which only made things the more discomfiting. It wasn’t as if he were experienced in such things any more than Gohan: he was merely listening to novel developing feelings and sensations within himself. And if his own feelings could be wrong, how would he be what Gohan actually needed?

“Gohan, what if I am not ready?” I really do not think I am now.

“You seemed ready enough.” I need…

“Only because I believed you were.” I could not bear giving you another lamenting memory, Gohan. I just could not.

“Piccolo-san. Please…” Please don’t overthink this Piccolo-san. I know how you are, how you think. Just _feel_. You were doing well moments ago. If I could have stopped my tears I would have.

Still holding Piccolo’s face, Gohan began kissing him devotedly; letting his tongue begin to taste the edges of Piccolo’s mouth until it slipped inside and began to probe the surfaces there, striving to push them both forward.

_Onegai, Piccolo-san._

Piccolo answered by pulling Gohan’s body closer to his once more, attempting to kiss him just as earnestly as he had. But the moment was gone, and he no longer had the confidence he had earlier, easing away from him.

“Gohan, please forgive me, but I am not ready,” hesitantly admitted Piccolo, averting his eyes as he felt so severely he was failing Gohan.

“It’s alright Piccolo-san. Just hold me for now, please?” Please, give me that much. Don’t let me crumble before we’ve won the war.

And Piccolo did hold M. Gohan closer and tighter and yet with more care than ever before, the two of them spreading back out on their blanket under the stars, silent relief and regret vying strongly within each of them.

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A little lavender-haired boy continued to fidget with a small raven-haired boy and the young man his counterpart, outside the grand white dome of Capsule Corporation, feeling just too nervous at meeting with and telling his parents the truth and thoroughly embarrassed at the ridiculous suits Chichi demanded they both wear once she was “enlightened” of the full scoop. How come the big Gohan didn’t have to wear these ridiculous uncomfortable suits? He got to wear his usual dogi, which was so unfair.

“Go on Trunks, ring in and let them know we’re here,” urged M. Gohan, striving to contain the small smile that kept climbing his face. That was one thing he did not miss—the embarrassing suits with bowties and glossed down hairdos his mother would make him wear at “special” occasions. And as he gazed down at his young counterpart and his deshi Trunks, he could not help but internally chuckle some.

“Gohan-san, do we have to wear these? We look ridiculous! And look at my hair. I did not need cream in my hair. It’s unnatural I tell you!” griped an increasingly flustered Trunks.

“You promised Chichi-san you would, so you will Trunks. And Gohan, I know you know how Okaasan can be. But you also know how wonderful of a person she is, despite her quirks, so you will endure.”

Both young boys sighed heavily in defeat, Trunks reluctantly reaching to push the intercom. “We are here to see Bulma Hakase and Vegeta-san, please,” murmured Trunks timidly.

“Speak up boy. And just who the hell is ‘we’?” grumbled a familiar mean voice, causing Trunks’ heart to speed up. His father answered the door?

“It is me Tes, Mek and Son Gohan. May we come in Vegeta-san? We would like to speak with you and Bulma-san, please?”

It was quiet a long moment, and tears almost began to well in Trunks’ eyes, but he patiently stood his ground.

In the next, the front door to Capsule Corporation opened; hard, earnest black eyes peering down hard into similar dark blue eyes, Vegeta’s eye twitching as he saw something there he hadn’t before. “The onna is in a meeting. You should have known to make an appointment,” he informed nonchalantly, his perpetual scowl in place.

“Actually,” offered M. Gohan, “we did make an appointment. We are early though.” Of course Bulma would not allow being pregnant stop her from carrying out certain tasks, not until the last month or two anyway.

Mean obsidian eyes moved to glare up at familiar dark eyes before narrowing. “Learn to be on time brat,” Vegeta quipped, moving out of the way and urging the odd trio to come in.   

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Vegeta’s fingers continued to rap irksomely on the fortified table as he listened with patience he normally did not seem to possess. And once all three were through alternately informing him of the truth, he swiftly knocked each one over the head, causing all three sets of youthful eyes to widen.

“What do you take me for? A fool? I am _not_ Kakarotto. You cannot fool a true Saiyajin nose. I would know Kakarotto’s stench anywhere,” he groused, looking harshly at M. Gohan. “And there is no way I would not know my own blood,” Vegeta finished passionately, his keen onyx eyes landing solidly on Trunks.

And then he knocked all three demi-Saiyajin over the head once more. “You will all come with me now. Do not tarry.” There was not a hint of leniency to his voice, so all three quickly nodded, following him at once.

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  1. Gohan’s face became most serious upon entering the vast Gravity Room; he immediately taking an offensive kata in readiness for the “Prince”. Trunks and Gohan felt much better once they were able to walk around in freer clothing afforded them, but the thickened-in-more-ways-than-one atmosphere in the GR caused all innocent mirth to drain from them, their eyes glued to the two gladiators soon to commence battle before them.



Show me what you’ve got brat. For, I will not allow this world to be lost. And if you are not legitimate help for the battles to come, you are hindrance.

Hopefully you are significantly more spiritually matured Vegeta. Your inflamed arrogance will not save you or this world: only your diligence and warrior heart might aid in its salvation, and perhaps your own. I hope for all our sakes you are much more than the selfish haughty ouji I knew what seems so long ago.

  1. Gohan and Vegeta did go at each other fiercely then, it far more than a mere spar to either of them as they challenged themselves and each other to the brink without destroying said room; Trunks and Gohan having difficulty keeping up with every single powerful blow and sharply executed move, but cheering each on just the same.



After half an hour of intense sparring—more honestly fierce brawling—Vegeta halted the match, truly fed up. “Enough brat! You are definitely Kakarotto’s spawn. You have the same disastrously exasperating habits. If you want to defeat a craven murderer, you must be ready to kill. Neither power nor intellect is enough to win the war. You must not be ready to die but be unwilling to; ready to kill, even cruelly and most viciously if you must, doing whatever you must to get the job done. There is no such thing as fair in war or the world, as craven evil ones have no scruples, honour or shame: they are spinelessly mendacious and wicked to their cores and have no qualms about being the villains; thus that is all they will ever be. Anger is not enough. Destruction is just that, and only you can make sure it happens in the right places, at the most crucial moments. Fire bludgeoning fire, but you must be the greater fire holistically, or you will not have a chance,” declared Vegeta seriously; his deep Saiyajin eyes ardently piercing M. Gohan’s, making him look away.

How can he say that to me with all he’s done? But damn I do want to kill those heinous villains, absolutely annihilate them, so much it hurts! They stole everyone important to me, and used me for their sick amusement. I want them to suffer and die; not a trace left of them anywhere, so they can never ever commit such heinous atrocities to anyone else. Even Jigoku is too good for them: they should cease existing at all.

“And never show tears to the enemy. It’s the same as bowing to them,” growled Vegeta with disgust, turning and beginning to walk out of the GR.

“Gohan-san, are you alright?” asked Trunks, peering up at his dear shishou worriedly.

I really do not know. I thought I was ready. I really thought I was getting better. Maybe I’m not… “I’m fine Trunks. Just remembering…”

“Gohan-san!”

“Go meet with your mother Trunks. Little Me, please be there for him and thank you. I have another appointment I must attend to.” And without wiping the tears from his face, M. Gohan flew out of the GR and Capsule Corporation and swiftly took to the skies; deepening shame clawing at the already fragmentations of his soul.

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“Fight me Piccolo-san, please!”

“Not while you are in this state: it would serve neither of us any good.”

“Then—”

“No. I will not do that either. You—”

“Dammit Piccolo-san! Are you my lover, my friend, my life’s mate and partner or not?!” _Please!_

Something crumbled in Piccolo then; his face rarely breaking with honest lament and saturated uncertainty; he rarely unsure of what to do next. But he stayed himself, taking a cleansing breath and a battle stance right after. Grasping his resolve, though he loathed it, he knew he had to move forward, so Gohan could do the same.

Crash! The skies and very earth shuddered under the awesome onslaught of two of the most extraordinary senshi ever. Much time passed, imperceptible to them as their eyes only saw each other, with each fervent thrust, bombarding blow, resilient hold, piercing blast and precise kick. Cells and fibres vibrated with all the tenacity of each combatant until genuine fatigue from both fighters urged the decisive blow—executed by Piccolo—a hard right to the solar plexus and then swift following kick, knocking M. Gohan out of Super Saiyajin and onto his back; the unrelenting storm their power and fight had caused settling from near hurricane to a dark and soft but diligent falling rain, both senshi soaked and breathing hard where they were.

Piccolo walked over to M. Gohan’s supine form slowly; every muscle throbbing with the evidence of their battle, though none more so than his heart. He knew without knowing what needed to follow for his dear Gohan, and he was not sure if he could do it. And when he finally made it to him; their eyes locked for a long and profound moment, conveying all that words too many times proved inadequate to, the cold rain streaming down both their faces, reminiscent of tears.

Please universe, let me do this right for him now. _Onegai_.

Serious to follow through now, Piccolo did Shunkan Idou them back to what had become their little house; gingerly beginning to remove both his and Gohan’s sopping wet gi.

**Tsudzuku…**

Gomen for taking so long to update, life is rough, especially with craven mendacious hate criminal terrorists around, even harassing, belittling and slandering innocent authors under various cowardly aliases on fan fiction sites. Arigatou Gozaimasu for reading, those of you who remain honest, decent, thoughtful, open, understanding, genuine worthwhile human beings—so unlike the heinous, ignorant and cowardly other poor excuses for human beings who have unfairly and unjustly attacked, assaulted, terrorised, slandered and harassed me since fanfiction.net—as you read my stories: you are the ones I write for, and I will continue to write and update as I can, despite the continued severely foul undue treatment and cruelty from mendacious, dastardly, shameless, spineless atrocious souls. I will continue to tell the truth about those who attack me and other innocent aspiring authors now, as long they continue to do so; regardless of the lies and false unscrupulous fabrications they may put out there under multiple changing accounts and usernames like the heinous dastards they keep choosing to be. For, I do not wish for other authors to be continually unjustly attacked, assaulted, harassed and terrorised as I have unfairly been for far too many months now.

Thank you for reading those of you who are decent worthwhile souls. I will keep updating when I can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SlanderMeAgainAndYou'llBeSorry: "How do you know I threatened other authors unless it is also your account? :) Gotcha, you big liar. (I am not a tattletale like you. Only you and the other author would have known that especially since BOTH your accounts don't accept public reviews and NO ONE ELSE SEES IT). HAH! Now I have confirmed it is you. Ha-ha-ha! (I will screencap your blunder.) Repent and change your ways and we will leave you alone. :)"
> 
>  
> 
> Estsuryuu: Because they have contacted me after you foolishly gave them my name in accusing them of being me. So thank you that. Continue this evil, and I guess it will go on. Because the villain has most assuredly been you since fanfiction.net.
> 
> The first is a comment from the cruel thieving hate criminal terrorist who just can't go to bed without doing evil to innocent others and my response. For this evil soul is has apparently been cruelly harassing other innocent authors in assuming them to be me. And if this coward continues to harass me, I will continue to upload their comments any I have to.
> 
> Unlike you, miss SlanderMeAgainAndYou'llBeSorry, I do not take pleasure in bringing unfair punishment and harm to innocent people. You may continue to lie and screencap and harass as are your dastardly habits, but the cowardly evil one will remain you: the one in severe need of repentance is you. People can believe whoever they wish, as I am sure people can make up their own minds. But the thieving, slandering, hate criminal terrorist will continue to be you until you chose to stop committing atrocities against me and innocent authors; and anyone who sides with you, will be committing crimes with you. Now that you have harassed other innocent authors assuming them to be me, will fight together now that you have foolishly joined us with your atrocities against us. We have done none of the evil you fallaciously fabricate. And since we are innocent, we will not stop. It is truly disgusting how evil people smile when they commit their atrocities. I am glad I am not such a heinous soul. I do not understand people taking pleasure in others' pain. 
> 
> Thank you for reading honest, decent, worthwhile souls. I will keep telling the truth and updating when I can.


	7. SEVEN

Piccolo’s heart trembled with sorrowful diligence while M. Gohan continued to quaver tremulously in his arms as he took the utmost of care to thoroughly wash and massage each and every portion of his beloved’s body. Every time Piccolo rubbed, soaped or pressed over an area of skin or muscle, Gohan whimpered—not because of the obvious contusions and wounds from their fight, but out of terror and shame conditioned by his dastardly attackers from another time—effectively chipping away at Piccolo’s heart with each deliberate and ginger movement of his hands over Gohan’s body. But he knew he must continue. He knew he must help Gohan not only learn to holistically trust him and himself again, but feel natural and comfortable around him no matter what they did together: nothing they did should ever force Gohan to relive the most cruel and horrible moments of his life. Their time together ought to always be about love, trust, peace, positive growth and hopefully genuine evolving mutual happiness and wisdom. Somehow he had to begin concretely fortifying that bridge for them both.

A quaint thought struck him then as his contemplative mind strived to find a viable way to do this for Gohan; a thought though initially, not so absurd when one fully realised all that his poor deshi had endured and held in alone for so long, without any real aid or relief for his mind, for his soul. After they were both washed well, he gingerly lifted Gohan’s thoroughly contused and wearied body up and into the grand waiting sea green hued tub with him, holding him protectively while sitting behind him in the pristine steaming mineral softened waters. And there he began to sing, very intimately from his heart for his dear Gohan, without embarrassment or chagrin; softly, yet earnestly from his belly, a melody he had not heard in literal centuries; an old Namekku lullaby the Son of Katattsu in him barely remembered from a time before the poor Namekkuseijin child had come to Earth to remain a sad and lonely survivor.

Gohan gradually eased, his ears perking and his trembling beginning to abate as he listened soundly, sinking deeper into the soothing water with Piccolo. As he continued to listen to the minor chorded yet wholly beautiful and lyrical lowly vibrating melody, weight on his heart and shoulders slowly began to dissipate, anxiety gradually decreased, influencing Piccolo on.

When Piccolo’s otherworldly multi-timbre singing finally ceased, Gohan turned around in Piccolo’s lap; his eyes imploring so earnestly without words. When he believed the time right, Piccolo did heed, gingerly grasping Gohan’s chin, beginning to press his mouth to Gohan’s slowly, meaningfully and sensually until Gohan participated of his own accord with veritably increasing hunger.

Piccolo made sure to remain attentive, though sultry heat began warming them both deeply; his fervent earnest kisses moving from Gohan’s mouth, to his neck, to pert nipples; licking one until Gohan moaned and bringing the other into his mouth to devoutly suck, simultaneously petting Gohan’s tail until he arched in real pleasure. This was one place far from training, battle and hopefully any type of pain. Here, in this intimate and enclosed sphere was the place Piccolo wished with his whole being only to give Gohan the purest pleasure and hopefully some real lenitive peace—pleasure so complete it would entirely overwhelm whatever anguish or chaos still kept him prisoner in his own body and mind.

“P-Piccolo-san…” uttered Gohan breathlessly, his dilated eyes closed, lips plumped and mouth slightly agape as deepening arousal and hope and trust filled his person, “yesss, please.” _Free me_.

Though still a bit apprehensive himself, Piccolo pulled Gohan even closer, devotedly kissing his lips while his telekinesis began delicately moving to prepare Gohan. Deft, gentle telekinetic fingers, lacking claws, unlike the physical ones they represented, began to gingerly probe and prepare Gohan’s lower entrance as delicately as possible; pushing inside him underwater, along with Piccolo’s natural lubrication, beginning to stretch and lubricate him inside. Gohan immediately bristled and pulled away from their sultry osculation; Piccolo gauging him seriously, attentively. Terror and anxiety crawled back up Gohan’s spine as Piccolo’s psychokinesis continued to probe and prepare him thoroughly. But, he bit his lip and took many breaths; eventually moving closer once more and kissing Piccolo again; slowly rocking atop his larger form, trusting him with his entire being.

Part of Piccolo did not wish to do this. Though both were significantly aroused, tears were streaming from his Gohan’s eyes, keeping Piccolo’s own moist with immeasurable regret. And though he could feel him calming once more through his gentle telekinetic inner massage to his flesh and telepathic comforting to his mind, the absolute trust his dear deshi had for him, whom he surely had for no other; it still tore something inside of Piccolo’s soul to continue. Yet he knew he must. He loved Gohan too much to just keep allowing him to suffer vainly. This gap had to be bridged. And though scars of the soul never completely healed, he knew he must help his beloved begin the process, so he could have a chance of moving on.

Grasping Gohan as gingerly as possible, Piccolo lifted Gohan up just enough to begin real penetration. With his telekinesis, he began slowly rubbing Gohan’s swelling member from head to base, hoping to give him sheer pleasure while he eased his own actual prominent midoriiro organ up inside of him. Gohan’s head shot back as he felt the plump well lubricated and rounded head breach him and press further inside of him, his mouth opening partially as encompassing warmth and pressure and pleasure overwhelmed him. Piccolo kept stroking Gohan’s member to pleasure and pushing in until both were eerily silent and without movement; holding Gohan close and biting his own lip to stay himself while Gohan adjusted.

“Move Piccolo-san. _Onegaishimasu_ ,” finally whispered Gohan with conviction; he beginning to rock slowly on Piccolo’s grand form then, his eyelids down and plumped lips apart as he panted softly. And Piccolo did a testing thrust; his eyes gauging Gohan intently. “Yes my Piccolo: move in love _with me_ ,” susurrated Gohan, beginning to rock upon him a little faster, a bit harder, causing Piccolo to groan as he was swallowed by more exquisite warmth and peculiar pleasure than he had ever felt in his life; holding Gohan closer still.

Water in the bath sloshed in gentle waves with each of their gradually increasing movements. There was plenty of warmth and pressured pleasure for both, yet Piccolo could still feel the slight painful shadow of Gohan’s unease; pausing to comfort him. “Gohan, look at me. I am not taking you or from you; _I am loving you_ , because I really do.” _So_ much more than I could ever fully express, but feel me now as I am please, _I really do_.

Some more tears spilled from Gohan’s eyes as they fully opened to truly behold his Piccolo. Yes. This was his Piccolo. With him . Inside of him. _Part of him._

He was being loved. Not broken. Loved. Not cravenly dominated or shattered. Loved. Not heinously stolen or taken from. Loved. Not cruelly and brutally raped by the most cowardly and inept. Loved by his most trusted and beloved. Not used and abused and horribly demoralised and shamed. Just really and truly and thoroughly loved; in body, mind and soul; his confidence accumulating once more with that rising, unrelenting warmth of body and spirit he could feel from his beloved.

After a few cleansing breathes, Gohan managed to blink the tears from his eyes, nod his head in the affirmative and give a small smile; wrapping his arms and tail around Piccolo in conviction and swelling need; moving to kiss Piccolo’s mouth with all his kokoro. Here was his Piccolo with him. No enemy here: no craven atrocious foe would ever get to breach this sacred and esoteric space again. His Piccolo would never really hurt him or allow anyone else to. He loved him probably even more so than his parents in a way, for his love held no stipulations on how he “ought to” be, behave and live as an individual in the world. Piccolo loved and appreciated him just for being him. And with this moment Gohan pushed to return that love wholeheartedly; putting all his love, hope and passion into this kiss.

Piccolo moaned and kissed him deeper, doing his best to reciprocate everything; his long virile arms caressing him more gently than most would think him capable, yet still protecting him like mystical mighty wings, his hips moving up into Gohan’s to continue their lovemaking; each gentle yet firm and thorough stroke punctuating his love for him; again and again, mutually throbbing throughout their bodies and souls.

_Gohan…_

_Piccolo…_

The pace began to pick up and heat took them again, higher and higher. Gohan began to writhe on Piccolo as pleasure fully warmed and pervaded him; his movements speeding as Piccolo’s member and his continuous caressing and massaging touches felt increasingly good to him. The pain, the shame, the fear, the want—it had all finally melted into a pooling puddle of nothingness, which allowed evolved blissful warmth he had never known before now to overcome it. And Gohan began to relish the moment fully; hoping it was incredibly good for his beloved too; beginning to rock so diligently atop Piccolo, his life partner was practically pinned to the bathtub of still spilling water.

And then Gohan felt it, for the first time in his life—he had felt levels of arousal several times before, but never had he been allowed the full zenith of completion—the rising, crashing extraordinary beginning undulations of apex; riding through their exquisite connection and through his entire being; making him moan and rock much harder until he locked up and screamed Piccolo’s name, holding to him for dear life; light and energy thrumming through them both powerfully, lighting the room with gold and green magnificence.

A light smile lit Piccolo’s eyes as he watched his Gohan free himself from inner bondage. Though the warmth and squeezing feel of Gohan around him was considerably pleasurable, an uncanny novel to his flesh he would never be able to forget if he tried—the fresh undulations of pleasure and heat and touch, rising like power to an extraordinary zenith unlike anything he had ever known—nothing felt better than feeling Gohan let his mind go, let his spirit and being truly ease and free, captive no more to what he had never truly been allowed to choose. And he kissed him then, holding him with genuine fondness, not wishing to let go, even when the last energetic wave had ebbed off.

“Thank you Piccolo-san…I love you,” whispered Gohan tiredly after a while, resting comfortably upon Piccolo’s masterful chest in the afterglow, feeling no need to move whatsoever.

“It is mutual Gohan,” averred Piccolo soft yet still resolutely. I will not let you suffer alone in vain ever again. We are in this together, always.

They held each other then for a long, tender moment; Piccolo smiling softly as his Gohan had fallen asleep peacefully upon him.

After carefully washing and drying him and himself once more, Piccolo carried his Gohan to their bedroom; delicately placing him under the comforter and slipping in behind him; wrapping him with his arms protectively; his own eyelids falling soon after.

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“I knew it! I knew something was suspicious about that story. Hm. You got some harshness from your father, but you definitely have my good looks and smarts,” excitedly proclaimed a certain cerulean-haired and eyed heiress. “And wow. Gohan is really attractive all grown up; definitely more distinctive than Goku.”

“Mama!” exclaimed Trunks, mortified at his mother’s antics.

Young Gohan just giggled under his breath. Though quite precocious and erudite, he wasn’t quite at the age where he understood certain adult subjects yet, and his mother always blocked certain facts of life from him; innocent giggles trickling up his throat at both Bulma and Vegeta’s amusing expressions and behaviour.

“But I think you all are being ridiculous. If you know what is coming and even where and when it’s supposed to occur, you ought to take care of it now.”

“Onna, we’ll ‘take care of it’ when it’s time. Make yourself useful and get me another serving of your mother’s chowder,” Vegeta urged haughtily, rudely shoving his empty bowl in her face.

“You uncouth brute!”

“You crude vulgar onna. There. We’re even. Now get me my food woman,” pushed Vegeta nonchalantly, though his eyes widened once he actually turned to see her face.

If looks could kill…

“Spoiled Prince!”

“Obnoxious Heiress!”

“My room— _now_.”

Vegeta’s tail fluffed and faced twitched, his expression becoming unreadable, though a bright ruddy flush bloomed in his tan cheeks and heat hit him hard as had become conditioned response with her, much to his simultaneous chagrin and delight; in the next moment he suddenly vanished from the dining table, heeding Bulma’s demand, another type of hunger filling belly.

“Eat as much as you want honey,” crooned Bulma, her fingers running affectionately through Trunks’ lavender locks, “you too Gohan. You know you are always welcome here. Since you are staying the night, you two stay out of trouble, alright? I’ve got a warrior prince to tame, so do not stay up too late you two,” finished Bulma, moving quicker than they thought her capable of with the still developing baby bump she wore and leaving the room.

Though he attempted to halt it, Gohan could not help the innocent giggle that trickled up his young throat.

“It’s not funny Gohan. They’re both incorrigible in their own obnoxious ways.” They could have exercised some restraint. I’ve never seen my mother act that way before. Of course, I can’t recall ever seeing her and my father together before. And she never said much about him…

“I think your parents are cool Trunks; weird but cool,” offered Gohan sincerely, his tail patting Trunks on the shoulder comfortingly.

Tears brimmed Trunks’ eyes then without his say as the thought that he would never get to see his actual mother ever again, had never gotten the chance to really see his father that he could remember, filled his person. These were this world’s Trunks’ parents. His own would never again…

Gohan frowned at Trunks’ suddenly distraught appearance. “Trunks, I am so sorry you cannot return to the world and people you knew. I do not wish for you to be distressed or unhappy. But I am so glad you are here. I know life would not be the same without you,” whispered Gohan sincerely, empathetic tears in his own eyes. “Please be happy my friend. I am happy you are alive and here.”

Trunks’ eyes widened, him wiping them quickly, shame filling him at his lack of control. “Oh Gohan, I am content to be here. This is a wonderful world. And I would not give up meeting you for anything,” affirmed Trunks honestly, wrapping Gohan in a tender embrace that made both boys warm and flush.

“Well, want to go see my new room?” offered Trunks, after awkwardly parting from Gohan’s person, attempting to clean his still flushing face.

“Yeah, I would like that,” replied Gohan, avidly wiping his own face as warmth bloomed in his chest too.

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It was quiet and dark when Trunks got up some hours later for some milk, unable to sleep. Though the urge was there to pet young Gohan’s dark locks before he left for the kitchen, Trunks held back, not wishing to wake the soundly sleeping child. Sometimes it was truly surreal to see Gohan so young, slightly younger than himself even, but part of him was glad he was.

Moving as quietly as he could in the dark kitchen, Trunks grabbed a tall glass and a plate from the kitchen cabinet, filling the glass with cool milk and the plate with Obaachan’s wonderful homemade chocolate chip cookies before sitting at the large dining table alone.

Trunks had eaten an entire cookie before he saw eyes glaring at him with reflected light in the darkest corner of the kitchen, heard that uniquely soft yet brusque and unrelenting voice through a short sigh, only one person he knew possessed. “Otousama?!”

“I am disappointed. Your senses are dull if you did not know I have been in here the entire time.” 

Trunks looked down into his plate in shame, not really seeing it, striving not to cry.

“But, I am proud of you. You are stronger than I was around your age,” declared Vegeta with veritable pride, coming to sit at the table near his son. “Hand me a couple of those sweet treats. The onna can’t cook to save her life, but her mother can make miracles in the kitchen… Once we’ve finished, come with me to train, my son.”

Trunks looked up then in disbelief, tears brimming his eyes, he wiping furiously at them, embarrassed to do so in front of his father. But he quickly stayed himself, handing a handful of cookies to Vegeta before beginning to finish what was left on his plate.

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Trunks almost griped with the dark and secure blindfold over his eyes, but he knew better. Vegeta was actually taking an interest in him and his development, and even remained somewhat courteous while doing so; something Trunks hadn’t even been able to properly dream of. So he yearned to make him proud.

“You must not only defeat your enemy, but find and accurately assess him so you can well. While your eyes must be keen and ki can be quite revealing, those ought not to be the only ways you _see_. Begin now.” And with that Vegeta took off to another section of Earth, flying faster and with more grace than any artificial machine ever could be designed to, before eventually diving and masking his entire presence altogether in some off wilderness.

Trunks bit his lip, but made sure to keep the blindfold on. He could do this. He would make his father proud. He would make himself stronger. And perhaps even his dear shishou would be proud of him too.

Seated hovering above the ground in a Piccolo-reminiscent pose, Trunks took slow and thorough cleansing breaths. Out thoroughly. In serenely. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In… He calmed his spirit and gently spread out his awareness as far as he could without passing out; listening with his entire being, _seeing_ with all his senses as his dear shishou had taught him.

It took a while and was faint at first, but Trunks could eventually feel the beating of his shishou’s heart, eventually able to “travel” and see him without at all moving from his current pose. He could not help but smile at the image of M. Gohan’s peacefully slumbering face. He had never known his dear shishou’s ki or being to be so _serene_. If Piccolo could do that for him, he would bear no grudge; he could actually be happy for both of them now. And he did flush brightly when Piccolo opened an eye and glared directly at him having felt awareness upon him, he apologising as quietly as possible to him so not to disturb his slumbering shishou, striving to find balance once more, so he could once again search for Vegeta.

Maintaining significantly more precise focus and determination than most children, Trunks continued to spread out his awareness; searching wholeheartedly for Vegeta. When the proud and smirking face of his father came into his mind’s eye, Trunks grinned; Vegeta signalling him to join him since he’d successfully “found” him.

For a few hours they seriously sparred together, keeping their power contained with a large mutual ki-shield around the both of them, so as not to bother anyone or thing; Vegeta pushing Trunks to surpass his limits, and Trunks doing his best to not only match but surpass his father with each powerful and precise hit. The night was lit and rife with their power and pressure, even as much as they contained it. Though his body ached from Vegeta’s unrelenting, much heavier blows; Trunks’ heart felt lighter than it had in a while, he seriously attempting to end the match with a powerful blow to Vegeta’s gut, knocking more than the wind out of him. But of course, Vegeta would not allow himself to fall; having to have the last hit, punching Trunks in the face and knocking him into the dirt.

While he did not help Trunks up, he did turn his head to proudly smirk his approval before flying off back to Capsule Corp.

Trunks wiped the blood from his mouth and stood slowly after; flying after Vegeta.

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“Trunks?”

“Yes Gohan?”

“Are you alright? I woke up and you were gone, and I got worried,” admitted Gohan nervously, biting his lip.

“I think I am going to be much better than alright,” actually said Trunks with a smile, feeling extra good after a hot bath after training with his father. “Thank you for really being my friend Gohan. I think everything is going to be alright very soon.”

Gohan smiled then so warmly, Trunks chest swelled with warmth. Neither lad said anything more as they returned to their respective beds; both sleeping more soundly than they ever had. 

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For the first time in a long while M. Gohan awoke well slept, not a nightmare to remember; beginning to leisurely stretch.

“How are you feeling?” enquired Piccolo seriously. He was very anxious, for Gohan’s sake. He hoped he had made the right choice, the right moves. How Gohan was feeling now would let him know many things.

Gohan took a long and cleansing breath of air. “I am feeling much better Piccolo-san. Thank you for being patient with me, for loving me instead of pushing me away… I think I am going to be alright, eventually. Things aren’t perfect, but we’ll make it. And somehow, we will win: we will defeat our enemies entirely and set things right in this world.”

… “Breakfast?”

“I am unbelievably hungry right now,” admitted Gohan eagerly, actually salivating at the thought of food, causing Piccolo to lightly grin.

“Well wash up then, and I’ll start getting on breakfast—or actually brunch at this time of day,” offered Piccolo with a smirk, smiling into the kiss Gohan gave him just before getting up. He had finally done something right. And he would keep striving to give him better and better with his all, as he could. Together they would get stronger; they would win. He would not allow his beloved to lose anymore.

**Tsudzuku…**

Arigatou Gozaimasu for reading those of you who are genuinely decent worthwhile souls. I will keep updating when I can, hopefully getting into the beginning of the first real DBZ battle of this story in the next few chapters. It’s been far too long again, but life’s responsibilities must always come first. Let’s all have a much better year than the awful cowardly hateful unjust one that passed. Let’s have the courage, intelligence and wisdom to become our greatest versions and make this world a better place, while there is still minute hope left for this crumbling world.

I hope the mendacious spineless dastards who just would not stop being vile, cruel and untruthful about and to me and other innocent authors have either finally grown up or moved on. Even after all their heinous deeds, they just had to leave another untrue and hateful comment and then cowardly delete the account used to do so. But that is their sin, their own burden to bear on their own obviously conflicted soul. Until they give up being evil, they won't have a chance to heal or evolve as beings, so I hope they do. No matter how one tries to deceive oneself the truth will remain in actual reality. Cowardly hate criminal terrorists fail to realise they make victims of themselves, being atrocious, craven, assaulting slandering sad beings to others. Hopefully they will learn to grow to become better beings. Evil truly is not worth it for anyone. And I hope with my whole heart evil will soon be cleansed from all hearts, from this and every world. I will continue to be an honest, creative, positive beacon in this world; despite how small vile minds might loathe me. Evil doesn't take days off, so I can’t either.

If anyone else is still being harassed, report it immediately: do not allow yourself to be cyber bullied. Even if they cowardly delete their account or change their name, at least what they did will be recorded by the nice people keeping AO3 going.

May 2018 somehow become the year real magic finally happens to and for this planet, this dimension, this universe; the year truth and love and peace and generosity and understanding and courage and acceptance and wisdom and positive abundance—the year authentic enlightenment and holistic worthwhile being on every dimension of existence—is far more overwhelming and widespread all over the world and reality than all the unnecessary and spineless evils and cruelties and tragedies and greed and falsehoods and cowardice we’ve encountered for far too long on this sad third rock from the sun. Here’s hoping for what’s left of 2018: May it truly be a New Worthwhile Year for us all, with things beginning to actually happen the way they veritably ought to all across the world, in every fabric, being and particle of the Universe.


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